


A Sky Full of Stars

by quintheowl



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), F/M, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, Pansexual Shiro (Voltron), TW ahead, guys this is a looong time coming, i love this fanfic so much and am so proud of it pls be kind, mature for some themes and language, originally called "Cosmic Love", the wedding AU literally nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25481161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quintheowl/pseuds/quintheowl
Summary: Keith's sister-in-law-to-be is kind, charming, and beautiful. Unfortunately, so is her brother, who Keith may or may not still be in love with.The Voltron: Legendary Defender Wedding!AU no one asked for. Inspired by the song "Sky Full of Stars" by Coldplay.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> so. this is a bit... darker, than usual? there's a LOT of uses of the fuck word and a lot of discussions of death, survivor's guilt, homophobia, and a bit of child abuse and racism as well. i have included trigger warnings before each corresponding chapter, so just brace urself kids. mental health is no joke. take care of urself first.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years before the story begins, Keith receives an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand we're BACK BABY! good god this has taken for EVER.
> 
> pls dont send me hate i worked really hard on this. enjoy!

[Go On & Tear Me Apart](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/40vn6AVHyX49Q5VrnouEbY?si=8x_womr2ReqL79n2XEgNWA)

_(May, 6 Months After the Breakup)_

The envelope has _sparkles._

It’s made of thick, weighty paper, colored ocean-blue and sealed with silver wax. It looks professionally made, expensive and luxurious.

24-year-old Keith Kogane stares at it in disgust as he tries to figure out who the hell could’ve sent it.

It’s undeniably _for him._ The black, flowing script at the back of the envelope says _for Mr. Keith Kogane, wherever he may be,_ and it ends with a flourish that makes Keith raise a suspicious brow.

He’s never received anything so nice in his life. For one, he barely has friends. He had severed as many ties as possible upon leaving his hometown, unable to suppress the idea of keeping in touch, like most do. And two, he’s a _mechanic_ for Christ’s sake! He wouldn’t get glittery letters with wax seals that look suspiciously like wedding invitations anyway.

 _Which,_ he realizes as he turns the envelope over in his hands for the umpteenth time, _is probably what it is._

He wonders briefly if this is his mother’s doing. Though she’s not the type to buy sparkly paper – or paper, for that matter, since she uses her phone for _everything_ , even writing down her grocery lists – her love of pranks exceeds everything else, and even he, who has only known her for about a month, knows how far Krolia would go to prank the ones she loves.

The thought dies immediately as he finally breaks the seal, opening the envelope and gently pulling out the invitation.

 _You are cordially invited_ , it says in sickening, cursive letters, _to the union of Alejandro Espinosa & Noelle Morales, to be held at The Arus Missionary Chapel on the 18th of June…_

There are more details of course, but Keith ignores them. A sudden headache has started right behind the base of his temples, and his hands are trembling so hard he can’t seem to hold the paper straight.

It flutters to floor as Keith grips the countertop, shaking with rage.

How dare him. How fucking _dare_ him. They haven’t even been broken up for _six months_ and already, the arm candy Lance had been sporting since February is about to be his _wife?_

The incredulously of Lance’s nerve is enough to pull Keith back in time, and all of a sudden, he’s not in his dinky studio apartment kitchen anymore.

_He’s in the alleyway between Garrison Crossroads and the Galra Gym, soaking wet during one of the few pouring days of the month, face-to-face with the only person who’s broken his heart._

_“Our lease ended, Keith!” Lance had shouted, his face flushed with anger and wet with rain. “You can’t do anything to me legally!”_

_Oh, Lance. He was beautiful. Keith had always thought so, ever since their first meeting freshman year of college. Lance’s wavy hair and freckled face spoke of growing up in the sun, and his eyes were bluer than Keith had ever thought possible. He was beautiful, and what they had was beautiful._

_Until all of a sudden, it wasn’t._

_“It’s not even about legalities, you pompous ass!” Keith had roared back, his hair plastered to his face. “How long have you been seeing her?”_

_He hadn’t meant to ask the question, and by the looks of it, it had caught Lance off-guard too. Lance had stared, unmoving, for a long while. “What do you care?” He had asked finally, bewildered._

_“You’ve never cared before. We dated for four fucking years, Keith! You never gave a shit about me liking women, never gave a shit about me not wanting to be alone! So why now? Why the fuck would you ask something like that unless you’d want to come back?”_

_And it was like Lance had shoved a knife between his ribs. Keith had staggered, struck, and when Lance automatically moved to help him, Keith had held out an arm._

_“You’re right,” he had choked, no longer sure if he wasn’t crying, “won’t make that mistake again. Goodbye, Lance.”_

_And he left. Left Lance standing there, gaping after him. He had turned around, out of the filthy, soaked alleyway, and he had never looked back._

And now here he is, some 2,500 miles away. Keith blinks, sweating slightly from the effort of not falling deeper into a rabbit hole of memories. Was he in the wrong? Is there more to the story? Thinking back on it, he never really gave Lance the opportunity to explain. He had passed by their usual coffee shop and had seen Lance with a woman, arm-in-arm. Keith had met her once before - when everything was good, and she’d introduced herself as _Nyma_ \- and Lance had seen him too, rushing out of the coffee shop to—

He can’t do this.

Keith scoops the invitation off the floor. He grits his teeth - wincing as he tastes blood – and takes the paper in both hands, making a deep, permanent tear.

He shreds the pieces, taking the envelope and shredding that too. Then he shoves the fragments into his trashcan and grabs the rest of the letters Lotor had mailed over, clicking the kitchen light _off_ as he leaves.

The moonlight glinting through his window lands on the top of the trash, shining on the pieces of paper, which glitter like stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feed off angst
> 
> >:)


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years since the Big Betrayal, and Shiro has some news.
> 
> TW: mentions of Parental Death  
> TW: mentions of Deaths of a Loved One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srsly i shouldnt be allowed to take a hiatus it makes me procrastinate. also i am well aware i did the big fictional no-no and used google for the Spanish translations but i have no friends and i dont know Spanish. if i said something wrong pls correct me.
> 
> enjoy!

**[Don't Want to Sit All In My Sadness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHOFjmQnTG0)**

_(April, 3 Years Later)_

Keith had just stepped onto his fire escape when his phone blares to life.

 _"Incoming video call from: Shiro,”_ his phone helpfully announces, and with a slight frown of confusion, Keith accepts the call.

The screen shifts from black to grainy to a picturesque view of the sunset, and then Shiro steps into focus. “Keith!” he beams, waving unnecessarily, “how’s my favorite half-brother doing?”

Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he props the phone on the closest stair and slips his legs through the metal bars to dangle them over the city. “I’m your only half-brother,” he replies (a bit tart, but hey, Shiro caught him off guard,) and shoves his hand in his pocket for his cigarette and lighter.

Shiro sighs when he brings them out, loud and tinny through the phone, and says, “I thought you quit?”

Keith glances at him in disbelief, the cigarette barely balanced on his lips with practiced poise. “Why would you ever think that?”

Shiro shrugs – a bit melodramatically, in Keith’s annoyed opinion – and scratches at his chin. “You told me last week you wanted to quit! I assumed you were taking steps to do so.”

Keith racks his brain to remember what could possibly lead him to say anything of the sort, and is about to open his mouth to argue when Shiro holds out an impatient hand.

“Ah-ah-ah, I know that look. No time for arguments, pal, I didn’t call just to discuss your bad habits. I have some bigger news to announce.”

Keith rests his chin on the railing. The sky around the Empire State Building is darkening; it’s going to rain. He finds himself suddenly longing to be back in Arizona. He tries to tamp down the jealousy building in his gut – after all, it’s not Shiro’s fault that he’s here.

“Alright,” he replies to Shiro’s eagerness. “What’s the headline?”

Shiro’s grin comes back full force as he moves the camera to the back view. Off in the distance is the shape of what looks like a woman wearing a ridiculously large sunhat, her skirt billowing around her. Keith can’t tell what she’s doing, but she’s clearly too far away to be listening to their conversation.

“Uh,” Keith begins, but before he can express his confusion, Shiro shouts, “SHE SAID YES!”

Keith blinks. What. The moment of silence trickles into two, then three. Shiro flips the camera back around, clearly bewildered as to Keith’s lack of a response. Keith inhales a deep breath of his cigarette. Then, finally,

“Is that Veronica?”

Shiro rolls his eyes in relief. “Oh, my God, Keith, yes. That’s Veronica. My _fiancée,_ ” he emphasizes the word emphatically, zooming the camera in and out toward his face, “and honestly: I know you got dry emotions, buddy, but I expected a bit more than that.”

Keith takes another swing of his cigarette. Why is dealing with people so goddamn hard?

“Of course I’m happy for you, Shiro,” he says truthfully, flicking off the ashes with his finger. “Sorry, I guess I’m just a little confused… I thought you weren’t going to be engaged until after you met her mom?”

Shiro scratches the back of his neck, slightly bashful. “Oh, well, certain circumstances bumped up the date. I’ve been chatting with her mom over Skype, and she gave us, well, er, _me_ , at least, her blessing last night.”

Keith nods, trying for a smile. It may look like a grimace, but, oh the fuck well. “Well, congratulations. I’m proud of you, man, really.”

Shiro beams. “I wanted to know if you’d be one of my groomsmen? I already have Veronica's brothers and Matt, and unfortunately Matt has already begged his way to being my best man, but both she and I want you up there too. What do you say?”

What else can he say?

“Yeah, sure,” Keith says, trying to swallow through the nasty taste growing in his throat. He smashes the cigarette butt into the metal of the fire escape and goes to light another.

“Excellent.” Shiro doesn’t say anything about the cigarette, and instead, turns behind him and shouts something in Spanish.

Keith braces himself, rubbing his temples. He _loves_ Shiro, would die for him in a heartbeat, and the couple of times he’s spoken to Veronica, she seemed kind and lovely. But today, of all goddamn days… does Shiro really have to do this now? Doesn’t he realize how devastating this day is to Keith?

 _Of course not_ , a small voice in Keith’s head retorts. _He doesn’t know. You’re shit at talking to people._ Of course.

“Hi Keith!” Veronica’s voice is melodic and cheerful, and Keith can’t help but give a small smile back.

“Hey, Veronica. I uh, heard the news! Congratulations, to both of you. I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?” There. Done. All the information out at once.

Veronica and Shiro exchange a small glance. If Keith wasn’t as perceptive, he would’ve missed it, but he didn’t, and he knows what that glance means.

“Actually,” Veronica begins, “we, well, _I_ wanted to know if you would be willing to come to Little Havana a week early before the wedding? Since you and Shiro are brothers, it would be a wonderful opportunity for us to get used to seeing each other as siblings. Also I’d like for you to meet my family, and hopefully come to see them as family as well.” O-okay. Well, he wasn’t expecting _that._

“The wedding is going to be in November, November… 2? 3?” She turns to Shiro, who nods in agreement. “November 3. I’d like for you to be here before Halloween, if possible. We’ll take care of everything! Your ticket, room, meals, and even your suit! You’ll just have to show up.”

Keith hesitates. She’s got the best intentions. He knows this. But the concept of a family is so foreign and unfamiliar to him that he’s not sure what to say.

“I-I’ve got work,” he argues weakly, and Shiro laughs in the background.

“Ooh, c’mon Keith, you gotta do better than that! When’s the last time you asked Kolivan for a day off? 6 months? A year? We both know you’ve accumulated a shit-ton of vacation time.”

Actually, it’s been a year and a half, but Keith doesn’t think accurate figures are relevant, so he doesn’t push. Instead, he says, “I suck at weddings!”

This time, it’s Veronica’s turn to laugh. “So am I! The last wedding I attended was my brother’s, and I accidentally ripped his bride’s veil.” She launches into a short little story that Keith can feel himself not paying attention to.

He tries to nod along, respond when prompted, but he can feel a headache start to pulse between his eyebrows, and as Veronica finishes her story with a flourish, he manages a sigh before saying, “can I let you know in a little bit? I gotta take my meds, my head’s killing me.”

It’s not an answer, and Shiro knows it. Nonetheless, he nods, understanding. “Of course, Keith. Just call us when you know, okay?” He nods at Veronica, who says, “bye Keith!” with the same bubbliness as before (though Keith can sense a slight shift of disappointment.) He hangs up before he can change his mind.

Keith presses the half-smoked cigarette into the same spot on the metal and stands, scooping up his phone as he pads back into his apartment.

Though he can feel his annoyance thrumming painfully into his ribcage, his labored breathing is threaded with embarrassment, more than anything. Veronica is thoughtful and accommodating. Shiro couldn’t have chosen anyone better to marry, but Keith – for the life of him – can’t understand why he’s almost infuriated with her request.

He sighs heavily, dropping his carton of cigarettes, lighter, and phone on his kitchen counter and presses his head against the coolness of his refrigerator. The little calendar magnet states that it is indeed April 23: three years ago today.

His eyes flit to the only photograph on the fridge. The picture is of a young Korean woman, standing in front of a large garage, dressed in a filthy white tank top and equally filthy olive-green coveralls. Her arms are crossed, grease stains on her face and skin, and her half-shaved hair is pulled into a messy topknot. Despite looking like she just crawled around in a giant exhaust pipe, her grin is toothy and wide, and she looks unmistakably like Keith.

Keith flips the photograph around to read the faded script on the bottom-right corner: _Krolia Kogane, age 27._

His mother. Same garage, same smile, some 20 years prior to now. She was _beautiful_. He desperately wishes he had more time with her.

He remembers attending her funeral: how bleak, how detached he felt from everybody else. She hadn’t known about him; he had been forcibly removed from her care upon days of being born. She thought he was dead.

He remembers crying when he saw her for the first time, remembers her crying, remembers being told that was the first time anyone at Marmora’s Garage had seen her cry.

He remembers being turned away by his grandmother. Turned away by his younger half-brother, and his half-sisters, and his uncle. _You’re not one of us,_ they told him after his mother died. _You are not welcome to stay._

So he hadn’t. Shiro is his family, as well as the ghosts of their father and their mothers, Krolia and Yuri. _They_ are his family. Fuck the rest of the Koganes. He knows better.

 _And maybe,_ that tiny voice in his head interjects, quietly, hesitantly, _maybe Veronica can be family too._

Keith blinks. He pulls his face away from the refrigerator. Time seems to have moved like molasses, but as he checks his watch, he realizes it’s only been a couple of minutes since he hung up on Shiro.

With another sigh, he snatches his phone off the counter and quickly types, _1 ticket for 10/28. but don’t expect me to bring a costume – or a suit._

He’s barely put his phone away when Shiro’s reply chimes back.

_Count on it >:)_

* * *

_(October 28, 6 Days Before the Wedding)_

When Veronica said they would take care of his room and meal situation, Keith wasn’t expecting them to _actually take it to heart._

He stares now, at the faded two-story with half-detached window shutters and an uneven porch. There’s a large orange tree in the front lawn, and basking underneath is a small – yet miserably old – beagle. Kids’ toys are strewn across the grass, and Keith can see a figure in the rocking chair hidden in the shade of the porch.

This is Veronica’s childhood home, and for some reason, the entire scene is familiar to Keith. He has no idea why.

Shiro sighs as he puts the car in park, and from his angle in the backseat, Keith can see Veronica turn to him slightly, smile.

“You just have to ignore him, Shiro,” she chirps, gently placing her hand on the nape of his neck. “Slav doesn’t bite.”

She slips out of the car, her pink high heels unperturbed by the loose gravel on the driveway. Shiro turns to Keith with a grimace, his nose scrunching in displeasure. “Slav is a tiny, rabid little monster who would do anything in his power to destroy my very being.”

Keith rolls his eyes with a short laugh as he climbs out of the black Mercedes. He had only brought his dark red duffle bag, which Shiro insists on carrying. As they make their way to the house, the beagle barks and runs up to Keith, sniffing interestedly, as Shiro hisses at him.

“Shoo, Slav, shoo!” Shiro flaps his hand, but Slav only stares, his droopy eyes calculating. Keith grins as Shiro stalks off, feigning victory, and stoops down to scratch behind the poor beagle’s ears.

“Don’t mind Shiro, buddy,” Keith tells him, “he’s always been afraid of dogs.” Keith gives Slav a final pet before hurrying after Shiro who - unlike Keith had initially thought – is still standing on the porch rather than inside the open front doorway.

Keith cranes his head before realizing that Shiro is speaking to the figure in the rocking chair, or more accurately, the _woman_ in the rocking chair.

She’s quite old, with her hair stark white and streaked with grey and pulled into a loose bun. Draped across her lap is a faded yellow knitted quilt, and draped across the quilt are her small, wrinkled hands. Keith can’t help but notice the thin gold band still glittering on her ring finger.

 _"Hola, abuela,”_ Shiro says, taking her hand gently. The woman looks up from her dissociated stare, beaming when she sees Shiro. She pats his cheek gently and turns her attention to Keith.

 _“Abuela,”_ Shiro says, indicating to Keith, “ _este es mi hermano,_ Keith. Keith, this is Veronica’s grandmother, _abeula_ Isabelle _.”_

Keith nods, hold out his hand. Isabelle takes it, stroking over his knuckles and gazing, wonderingly, at Keith (or, perhaps, _through_ him.)

“Hello,” Keith says, and the silence charges as Isabelle says nothing. Finally, after a moment or two of nothingness, she turns to the empty space next to her, and says, “ _Sí, Sebastian, creo que él es el único.”_ She smiles widely back at Keith, who glances uncomfortably at Shiro.

“Uh,” Shiro starts, clearly at a loss with what to do next, _“Abuela, que estás hablando con?”_

In response, Isabelle simply nods, her expression so vague and dreamlike that Keith isn’t sure she’s entirely sane. _“No importa eso, muchacho. Entrar en. Estoy seguro de que Rosita se muere por conocerte.”_ She points feebly to the front door, patting Keith’s hand.

Shiro nods as well, dipping his head in a way of thanks, and gestures for Keith to walk through the doorway.

“Um, it was nice to meet you,” Keith tries, and Isabelle simply closes her eyes happily.

_“Oh, Seb. Tal vez Alejandro puede ser feliz por fin.”_

Keith jolts with surprise, not sure why the name has struck him so, and stares at Isabelle. But she looks so peaceful and content, rocking back in her chair, as if she hadn’t said a word.

* * *

The moment Keith crosses through the threshold, a small boy with a mop of curly hair clings tight to his right leg.

Keith stumbles, shocked, as the boy starts shouting in frantic Spanish. Keith follows his gaze and instinctively ducks as a suction-cup arrow hits the doorjamb inches from his head.

The archer in question is another boy, stouter and louder than the one on his leg, and he throws himself on the railing, waving his plastic bow in one hand and the Nerf gun in his other.

“Mateo!” A tall, lanky man with a goatee who can only be Veronica’s brother appears from the kitchen, hands on his hips, eyebrow raised. “You know better! No weapons in the house!” He whirls on the boy still attached with fervor, flashing an apologetic grin toward Keith. _“Déjalo ir, mijo._ Hey, sorry about that,” he says as he manages to pry the boy off of Keith. “They’re always like this, just little devils of energy.”

The boy runs off, scampering after Mateo in another bout of furious Spanish, and the man pries the arrow out of the doorjamb before sticking out his hand.

“Luis,” he introduces, giving Keith’s arm a good shake. “I’ve heard so much about you, Keith!”

Keith tries for a matching smile and manages a slight grimace, wondering if he’s met Luis before (since he looks so _familiar_ ,) and Luis steers him into the kitchen.

The kitchen is cramped, but warm. The walls – a faded dark yellow wallpaper – and the floor – immaculately clean but with uneven grains of wood – look worn, but comfortable. Veronica is standing by the stove, next to a plump woman in a bright blue apron. Their hair is the same light brown shade and their noses the same shape, and Keith can only assume the woman is their mother.

At the dining table is a severe-looking woman with sharp features, hair the color of ink as she gently rocks a swath of cloth in her arms. She is the only one who doesn’t smile upon Keith’s arrival, and instead studies him stonily.

Luis moves to sit next to the stern woman at the table, and the familiar swoop to his hair turns Keith’s stomach to knots.

“Keith,” Veronica calls. Keith turns, glancing at Veronica and her mother, who carefully puts down the wooden spoon in her hand and hastily wipes her fingers on her apron.

“This is my mother, Rosita,” Veronica says, gently placing her hand on Rosita’s shoulder. “Mama, meet Shiro’s little brother.”

Keith tries to keep his displeasure at being called _Shiro’s little brother_ internal, but Rosita is sweet as she takes his hands. _“Dios mío, muchacho,”_ she says, gentle and kind, “you are so skinny! You must be starved. Come, eat.”

She wheels him over to the table, seating him across from the stony woman, who stares at him expressionless.

“Keith,” Luis says, turning slightly to the woman, “this is Lucinda. Luci, this is—“

“—Shiro’s little brother. I know, Luis, I have ears,” she says coldly, and regards Keith in a glower that pretty much sums up how he feels about her so far. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Without so much as a hint of a gesture to indicate kindness, she stands up, gently rearranging the bundle of blankets with great care, and it’s only as she turns and Keith sees through the gap of her blankets that he realizes Lucinda is _carrying a baby_.

The baby stares at him, wide-eyed, as Lucinda leaves the kitchen.

Luis shakes his head after her, sighing deeply. “Sorry, about that, Keith. She’s not usually that… hostile.”

Keith shrugs, betraying nothing. He’ll have to remember to stay as far away from her as possible during this trip.

Luis’s smile breaks out again as Shiro enters the kitchen, greets Rosita and Veronica each with a kiss on the cheek, gives a slight wave to Luis, and ruffles Keith’s hair as he sits down next to him.

 _Honestly_ , Keith grumbles internally as he flattens his hair. It’s like Shiro thinks he’s still 12 or something.

Shiro rubs his hands together greedily as Rosita approaches, carrying a steaming red pot. “I’ve been waiting for this all day, Mama,” he jokes, and Rosita beams.

The food, admittedly, is delicious, and Rosita clearly knows what she’s doing. Halfway through lunch, the group is joined by a pretty, bubbly blonde woman and a tall lanky woman wearing a beanie and a loudly patterned oversized, short-sleeved button-down. Her face is basically Luis’s features – albeit feminine and goatee-less. The blonde woman introduces herself as Anita, while the woman with a beanie (Keith assumes she and Luis are twins,) introduces herself as Rancelle, or “Rae.”

Throughout the hour, children run past the kitchen, sometimes to grab something from the fridge or from the steaming plates on the table, and other times to gather their respective parent’s attention.

Shiro explains as much of the family tree as he can to Keith: Veronica has three brothers and one sister. Marco, the oldest of the five, is currently out running errands with his nine-year-old. His wife is Lucinda, and together they have four children running amok the house – Stella is their oldest and Mateo is their only son – as well as the baby. Then there’s Luis, who is married to Anita. Luis has two sons, Miguel (the boy who had monkeyed himself to Keith’s leg,) and Fernando, or “Randy” (who is probably hiding in the attic with a book.) While Anita is not their biological mother, it’s clear from their conversations that she loves the boys dearly, especially when Miguel runs up to her with a scraped elbow, and Anita immediately excuses herself from the table.

Rae is indeed Luis’s twin, and she is both single and childless, so far having no desire to settle down. She strikes Keith as the rebel of the group, and Keith can’t help but notice the small rainbow flag pin attached to her beanie. Keith wonders if that flag is what he thinks it is, and stares curiously until Rae winks, flashing him a peace sign. Keith looks away, slightly embarrassed.

“What about your third brother?” Keith asks when Rosita starts clearing the plates, and his inquiry is met with an uncomfortable silence. Keith doesn’t miss the way Luis and Rae glance at each other, worried, or the way Veronica looks down, or the way Rosita seems to tear up slightly. After a paused moment, Shiro clears his throat.

“Alejandro, the youngest. He… might not be coming.” 

A lump starts to form in Keith’s throat. Alejandro? He notes the lankiness in Veronica’s siblings, the swoop of brown hair at the crown of Luis’s head.

His expression must be more transparent than he realizes, because Veronica sadly explains. “We call him Lance. He never RSVP’ed. We don’t know where he is, as we haven’t really seen him for about three years.”

 _Three years?_ “What happened?” Keith asks, his heart thudding furiously in his chest. Luis sighs, uncharacteristically serious, and picks at his thumbnail as he says, “he and his family were involved in a car accident. His wife and baby daughter didn’t make it. After the funeral, he kind of just… disappeared.”

Wife? Baby daughter? What the _fuck_ is going on?

“What was her name?” Keith presses, unable to stop himself. “L-lance’s wife?”

Rae looks at him curiously, as if she knows more than she’s letting on. “Her name was Noelle,” she says, slow and careful. “But we called her Nyma.”

* * *

“Keith, what the hell?”

Shiro is standing at the entrance to the loft, hands splayed in exasperation. Keith is pacing, his breath coming in short bursts of painful gasps.

 _I can’t do this,_ he thinks, frantic. _I cannot FUCKING do this._

“Keith!” Shiro looks concerned now, his frown deepening as Keith collapses on the cot Luis and Rosita had arranged for him. Keith opens his mouth to say something, and instead chokes out a dry sob, burying his face in his hands.

He feels a hand on his back, rubbing gently, and suddenly he’s 18 again, experiencing heartbreak for the first time. Shiro sighs as he pulls Keith close, no doubt feeling the racks of shuddering Keith can’t seem to stop.

“Lance,” Keith finally blurts, doing his best to keep his composure. “It’s _Lance.”_

Shiro’s frown deepens, no doubt confused. “What about Lance?” He asks, and Keith shakes his head. He can’t seem to explain this without looking like a child.

“Veronica’s Lance,” he tries again, and stops, feeling faint. Shiro rubs his back again. “Take your time, bud, take your time.”

After a few minutes of charged quiet, Keith takes a deep breath, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. “Veronica’s Lance is… is _my_ Lance, Shiro,” he finally manages to say, though Shiro, still frowning and concerned, simply replies, “huh?”

Keith groans. He thinks for a moment, then pulls up his shirt, where the roaring lion of blue ink sits comfortably to the left of his sternum. “Veronica’s brother, Lance,” he explains, “is _this_ Lance. _My Lance.”_

Shiro’s eyes widen, understanding crossing his face. Then, in a voice so low it’s barely audible, he says, “oh, _fuck._ ”

* * *

Shiro leaves the decision to Keith. He can stay, support his brother and his future sister-in-law with preparations and moral support, risking the idea of running into Lance again and possibly ( _possibly_ ,) hashing things out once and for all.

He can also leave, in which Shiro will make up an excuse for him and harbor no ill will. “It’s for your own good, if that’s what you decide,” Shiro tells him maturely and elder brotherly, which sinks Keith’s consciousness even more.

In the end, it’s the idea of missing out on one of the milestones of the most important person in his life that decides Keith to stay. If Lance shows up… well, he’ll deal with that if it happens. If not, it’s one more unanswered question that can flit through his thoughts in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick tip: to listen to the chapter titles (which are all based off of songs) right-click *open link in new tab* if u wanna read AND listen. and all Spanish translations will be found at the end of the work once everything is published, for your streamlined reading. 
> 
> god, its good to be back. see yall tmrrow!


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets to know the Espinosa family - and runs into a couple old friends.
> 
> TW: mentions of Deaths of a Loved One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me preface this by saying: i am not intimate with deaf life. i don't know anyone who is deaf, and i am not deaf myself. i have not studied ASL (American Sign Language), but i knew a few people who did and i am aware that despite it being a disability, it does not make deaf people any different than us. there is a deaf character in this fic, and i want to be as respectful as possible to that life. 
> 
> okay. here we go!

**[I Should Put My Heart Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWoO612DTpI) **

_(October 29, 5 Days Before the Wedding)_

Keith’s second day at the Espinosa household is as chaotic and crammed as the first. He finally meets Marco (as stern as his wife, but slightly kinder,) and is formally introduced to all _seven_ of Veronica and Lance’s nieces and nephews.

Stella stares at him, her expression as calculating as her parents. Even at the age of nine, Keith is intimidated. Seven-year-old Mateo is hyper as ever, shooting looks and finger guns at Miguel. He is considerably less terrifying than his sister, though the glance he throws Keith’s way lacks the warmth Keith was expecting. Their younger twin sisters (age five) are Marcella, who they’ve nicknamed Marla, and Liliana, who they call Lily, and while Luis and Rae are basically identical, Marla and Lily can’t look any more different. The baby, always bounced in Lucinda’s arms, is Joey, or Josephina.

Miguel, also seven, regards Keith with a gap-toothed grin and wiggling ears – a trick, he announces proudly, that he learned last year – and Mateo flicks him on the forehead before the two run off to destroy something else, probably Rosita’s vases. Miguel’s younger brother, small, skinny Randy, standing as the youngest child at age four, regards Keith with owlish eyes hidden beneath thick-rimmed spectacles. Keith meekly smiles at him before noticing the devices hanging tight in his ears, but the kid runs off before Keith can inspect it properly.

“He’s a bit skittish,” Anita explains sadly. “He doesn't tend to get along with the others; he mostly reads.”

Keith had noticed this about Anita: she always seems to know exactly what he's thinking at that particular moment. He wonders if she is an empath, since she certainly behaves like one. He watches as she walks by Luis, squeezing his shoulder as she disappears behind the kitchen doorway. It's clear that she takes the motherhood role seriously, something Keith can see in both Lucinda (though he hates to admit it,) and Rosita.

At that moment, Rosita sets a pile of fresh-baked tamales on the table, and Rae lunges for the first pick.

“Rancelle!” Rosita slaps her wrist chidingly, and Rae winces, drawing back. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail today, exposing the undercut stretching to the sides of her head. Her shirt is as loudly patterned as it was yesterday, the top button open to expose the tail of a tattoo.

It’s clear Rosita doesn’t approve of her outfit, and though Keith doesn’t understand a lick of Spanish, he doesn’t miss the gesture to Rae’s outfit as Rosita scolds her exasperatedly. Once Rosita’s back is turned, Rae rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue, crossing her arms in a manner that makes her look like a petulant teenager. Lucinda clicks her tongue in distaste, and Rae glares at her.

Well, at least his nerves aren’t the only ones Lucinda seems to cross. By the time Shiro and Veronica have arrived at the table, Lucinda and Rae are staring daggers at one another, and it’s only until Marco sharply nudges Rae’s chair leg with his foot and Lucinda steps outside that the peaceful breakfast is resumed.

“So what’s on the agenda today, Miss Married?” Rae asks, shoveling down tamales as if nothing ever happened. Veronica clicks open her phone and scrolls through, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

“Well,” she says, counting on her fingers, “Ma, Luci and I are going to finalize the flower arrangements. _Mi amor,_ you and Luis are picking up the suits today, yes?”

Shiro nods, stretching his coffee outward in a toast.

“Good.” Veronica pulls out a small notebook from the infinite pockets in her dress and skims over the text, making a noise of satisfaction. “Rae, if you and Anita can check in with the salon? I want to make sure our reservations are booked with Wendy. Marco insisted on doing the lawn work, which leaves _abuela_ with the kids. Keith, would you be able to help her a bit?”

Keith stops mid chew and sees everyone at the table staring at him. With a harsh swallow, he nods.

“Excellent!” Veronica beams, and Shiro gives a small thumb up. Veronica looks down at her notebook again and claps her hands together. “Oh, and Marco, don’t forget: Hunk and Pidge are stopping by a little later to map out the lighting configurations, so the podium from the shed needs to be out and the weeds by the birdbath must be cut down.”

Marco grunts an affirmation as Keith nearly chokes to death. Hunk? Pidge? He hasn’t seen either of them in ages.

Shiro pats his back violently as Rosita fussily brings him a glass of cold milk, muttering in Spanish and urging him to drink. Keith should’ve guessed that Pidge would be coming; after all, she and her brother Matt grew up in the house next to his and Shiro's. But _Hunk?_ He didn't even know they were friends outside of him and Lance.

He asks Shiro about it later, and Shiro looks at him as if he’s grown an extra head. “You know Hunk?” Shiro says in surprise, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline. Keith wants to kick him.

“Shiro,” Keith exclaims, exasperated, “I fucking _dated Lance. Of course_ I know Hunk!”

Shiro must register the fury in his eyes as he hastily takes a step back, hands outstretched. “Jesus, okay, okay, I get it! Damn,” Shiro shakes his head, amused. “He and Pidge are doing the lights and photography work for the wedding. Part of their new business together or something. Plus, you know, he's Lance's best friend, so he may know if Lance is actually coming or not, which will definitely give Veronica some relief. Look, if I’d known you’d get this wound up because of my fiancée’s _brother,_ Keith—“

“—Don’t push it,” Keith threatens furiously, and stomps off to the loft.

* * *

Later, he finds himself in the cramped hallway on the second floor. The photograph at the top of the landing is faded, yellowed. The frame is peeling silver. It shows a family of seven, and at the back: a tall, skinny man with a goatee and dark eyes. He’s unsmiling, standing stiff and stony – a sharp contrast to the woman beside him, a younger, brighter-eyed Rosita.

Keith assumes the man is their father, the Head Espinosa himself. In front of him is a shorter, teenage Marco; a skinnier, goatee-less Luis; a frowning, arms-crossed Rae; a delighted, always impeccably-dressed Veronica, and there, sitting with Veronica’s arm draped across his shoulder…

Time stops as Keith stares at the photo, soaking in Lance’s toothy, impish grin. He’s copying Veronica, his fingers stretched to a peace sign like hers. Even then, at an age Keith can only deduct was no older than four, Lance’s face was a constellation of freckles. His knees, all skin and bone, are pressed together as he poses in what can only be pure happiness.

With a start, Keith realizes that Lance’s startling blue eyes are the only blue eyes in the photograph. He leans closer, his nose almost touching the glass, and scans the rest of the Espinosas with curiosity.

Indeed, everyone but Lance has dark or brown irises, barely visible through the timely grain of the photo.

“That picture was taken 22 years ago,” a voice behind him says, and Keith slips, almost slamming into the wall.

Rosita is there, holding a basket filled with laundry. She clicks her tongue at him, smiling gently, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that Keith recognizes from yesterday. Slowly, he gestures to the photograph, indicating to the tall, serious-looking man behind his children.

“Your husband?” Keith asks, hoping it’s not too impolite for him to inquire, and kind Rosita simply nods, setting the basket down on the floor beside them and gently removing the frame from its hook.

“Josef,” she says, her voice laced with grief. “It’s been five years since he passed. I remember the day clearly.”

Keith does too.

Things were still good at the time. They had just moved in together, just started a life together. Keith had suspected that Lance still hadn’t told his family about them, and though the thought annoyed him, he wasn’t thinking too much about it. They were _happy._

Then Lance’s father died. He left Arizona for one week, and upon his return, had become distant, cold. He stopped talking to Keith, started asking serious questions, like if Keith ever saw a future with him – which, to be fair, how the _fuck_ was Keith supposed to answer something like that at two in the morning?

They started fighting constantly – Lance wanted commitment, Keith wanted respect. They grew apart faster than they could put themselves back together. The day their lease ended, Lance left, and Keith didn’t see or hear from him again until the alleyway, when Lance was with _Nyma_ _._

Josef Espinosa’s death may have been the catalyst to the end of an already-failing relationship. It doesn’t mean it hurt any less.

Keith stares at Rosita now, at the way she hugs the frame to her chest, nostalgia and heartache evident in her expression. How could Lance leave her hanging, refuse to call or text or let her know he was okay? Here she is, holding a household of her children and her children’s children together, and Lance can’t even be bothered to send a reply to an RSVP.

It was one thing for Lance to ghost him - which Lance had done _many_ times. It’s an entirely different thing for Lance to do that to his own _mother._ Keith would give his right lung to see his mom again, would change the stars to hug his mom one last time if he could. He’s sure if it were the other way, if he was put into Lance's position, he would’ve found time to reply.

Rosita notices him staring and blushes slightly, replacing the photo on the wall and hastily wiping the tear that had escaped from her left eye. _“Mis disculpas, niño,”_ she says, smiling bravely. “You are a guest in this house. You don’t need to hear of our despair.”

She goes to pick up the laundry basket, but Keith – on an impulse – beats her to it. “I’ll help,” he blurts, a bit startled by the ferocity in his voice. Rosita seems startled too, but after a moment of hesitation, she pats his cheek clumsily and leads the way down the hall. _“Vamos,”_ she says, and Keith follows after, feeling as light as the laundry in his hands.

* * *

As everyone files out for their respective missions of the day, Keith is left sitting between Isabelle (who is humming happily to a nonexistent radio while she shakily sews together a lump of furry fabric) and Stella (who is studiously flipping through a workbook of homework – Keith sighs inwardly at this, bemused and irritated, somehow.)

Marco is not unkind as he requests to be left alone out back – “It’s nothing against you, Keith,” he had said, preventing Mateo from tripping Lily with one hand while finishing Marla’s braid with another, “but I work much faster alone.”

And so it is that Keith was left alone inside the house, babysitting. He notes the irony to himself: he, an antisocial loner mechanic who _hates_ human interaction and is _terrified_ of children, is left watching six of them. Oh, and on top of that, the six children he’s watching are none other than _his ex-boyfriend’s_ nieces and nephews.

Internally, he’s screaming. On the outside, he’s helping Stella with her fractions and trying to prevent Miguel and Mateo from killing everyone in the house. The twins are off playing dress-up or café kitchen or God knows what else and Lucinda took Joey (clearly erring on the over-protective instinct,) so it’s really just Stella, Isabelle, and Keith in the living room.

He feels himself sweating a little bit, and counts off the number of children to calm down before realizing he’s missing one. Frowning, he remembers that he hasn’t seen Randy since breakfast, and wonders if anyone else had.

“Where’s Randy?” He voices aloud, and Stella looks up, pushing her glasses back up her nose with the eraser on her pencil. “Why?” She asks him, and Keith tries not to say _because I want to know,_ because holy shit is that patronizing. After all, she’s only nine.

“I just want to make sure everyone’s accounted for,” Keith adlibs, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the weight of Stella’s stare. Isabelle says nothing to contribute, and hums quieter instead.

“Why?” Stella asks again, and Keith sighs, rubbing his eye. “I want to make sure he’s okay,” he says, trying to edge finality in his voice, and Stella cocks her head at him but says nothing. There’s a shout from the hallway, an audible gasp, and a loud _thump_ before the boys dart through the living room, still shooting each other with invisible bullets and fake guns.

“He’s in the attic, probably,” Stella states as the boys barrel out the front door, and with a clipped nod, she breaks her stare with Keith. He stares at her before he turns his attention to the loft balcony. He had noticed that Randy was a bit of a recluse the moment he saw him, and wonders if the child just prefers to be alone. The thought resonates with him, somehow, and suddenly, he feels resolved.

“I think I’ll go check on him,” Keith announces again, standing, and Stella peers at him above her glasses, almost warningly. Keith is 90% sure he’s about to get a verbal smack-down from a fucking _child_ when Stella says, “you know he’s deaf, right?”

Keith blinks. (Jesus, his brain’s been short-circuiting _way_ too easily lately. He blames Shiro.) Glancing back upstairs, he considers how he would approach the situation, figuratively and literally. If he approaches the kid without warning, the kid may startle, leading to Keith being never trusted again around the kids, which would disappoint Shiro for sure. So, he asks Stella the first question that comes to mind. “Well, how would I get his attention without scaring him?”

Stella glances at Isabelle, who – in the middle of humming – seems to nod at her and gestures toward Keith. Keith gets goosebumps and the uncanny feeling that Isabelle is - for the most part - a _lot_ saner than she makes herself out to be. Stella pushes herself off the couch, walking straight past Keith and climbing the stairs. By the time she realizes he’s simply gawking at her and not following, she’s made it to the first landing, and impatiently waves him over.

“Come on!” She announces, taking charge. “I’ll show you.”

* * *

Randy is indeed curled up in the attic, nose-deep in a book. His back is propped against a slanted bookshelf, his feet buried underneath a pile of fluffy comforters. The light is off, but the sunlight flitting through the attic window is enough to illuminate the small spot where Randy sits. Propped next to him, in a ferocious pose, is a blue lion stuffie.

Keith freezes when he sees it, paralyzed to move. He doesn’t realize that Stella’s trying to catch his attention until she waves her hand past his face frantically, her expression clearly saying, _really dude?_ Keith clears his throat, glancing from her to Randy, and says, “Alright, well?”

Stella clicks the light switch on and off rapidly, making lightbulbs flicker alive. Startled, Randy looks up and closes his book immediately upon seeing Stella and Keith. Stella signs to him, and after a moment’s hesitation, Randy signs back, finishing his gestures with a small pat toward the pillows on the floor. Stella jerks her head at Keith and walks toward him. Crouching so as not to hit his head, Keith follows, copying Stella’s movements and sitting down on Randy’s makeshift cushions.

“Well?” Stella prods, eyebrow raised. Keith is equally impressed and annoyed with how empirical she looks. "What do you want to tell him?"

“Um, well, what’s he reading?” Keith asks, and Stella translates, her fingers deft with practice and poise. Randy blinks at them with his large eyes, as if a little disbelieving that someone could be interested in anything he has to say. He holds up the book, exposing the title of a book Keith is _very_ familiar with: _Starchild vs. The Galaxy._

 _Well look at that._ It was the first "big-boy" book Keith had read in his childhood. Shiro had checked it out for him at the library. Keith smiles his first genuine smile in a long time, and asks, “what’s it about?” Despite, of course, knowing very well what it’s about.

Randy blinks again as Stella translates, and purses his lips, hesitant.

 _Are you going to read it?”_ Randy asks, and Keith shrugs. “Maybe,” he says through Stella, “but first, I’m gonna need to get interested, aren’t I?”

Randy seems satisfied with this, and launches into a short summary about purple aliens, battleships, and a heroic, stubborn boy born with glowing stars on his back. Keith smiles, nods when necessary, and finds himself truly enjoying the conversation. Stella too, looks more relaxed than he’s ever seen her.

" _Then Starchild finds out about the bomb on Mars, and rushes to the Intergalactic Federation Base on Jupiter when—“_

The doorbell rings. Keith frowns, looking down toward the attic stairs, before realizing.

“Shit, Pidge and Hunk!” He smacks his hand against his forehead and stands to go. Realizing that he’d left Randy hanging, he turns back to them, who are staring after him in surprise. “Sorry, bud,” Keith tells Stella to tell Randy. “I need to get the door, but you can tell me all about your story later, okay? I promise.”

Randy is still staring at him as Keith descends, his last view of the attic being those magnified, wondering eyes.

* * *

After opening the front door, he gets approximately one second to register Pidge’s gaping stare and Hunk’s startled brows before he gets tackled back-first to the ground.

“Pidge, Christ,” he wheezes, tears of pain prickling at his eyes, “you-your knee!”

Pidge shifts slightly so her knee is no longer digging into his ribcage, but instead of letting him go, she simply hugs him tighter. “You’re a dickwad, Kogane,” she mutters angrily, though when she finally lets up, her eyes look a little misty.

“We thought we’d never see you again, man,” Hunk explains, hugging Keith with one arm as he tries to balance their equipment bag with the other. “It’s been a long time.”

Keith nods, guilt clawing at his throat. “Yeah, guys,” he says lamely, letting them in through the door. “I guess it has.” Pidge glowers at him. It seems like she can’t quite decide if she’s angrier or happier he’s here.

“Well? What the hell happened to you? It’s been, what, three years? _Three fucking years_ , Kogane! _THREE!”_

Hunk gently ushers her toward the couch as he again, explains in a gentler fashion, “we only knew you were still alive when Shiro would talk about you. He told Pidge you moved, but,” Hunk shrugs, smiling at Isabelle, “we had no idea where. Then you changed your number.”

Keith tries not to think about it too much, shutting everyone out after he and Lance broke up. It was easier to run, easier to cut ties. He wanted to meet his mother, and upon their reunion, she had offered him a job at Marmora. Then, after she died, he felt like he had left so abruptly, he had no choice but to stay in New York. 

He still can't think of anything to say to defend himself when Hunk's watch beeps rapidly. With a groan of disappointment, he turns to Keith, serious, but kind.

“We’ll catch up before the wedding, I mean it, but Pidge and I have to get these calculations done before four. We’re stopping by tomorrow. We can talk then.”

Keith nods, wanting to disagree but knowing he had lost the say to do so the moment he fled to New York. As Hunk disappears past the kitchen, Pidge turns to him, hands on her hips. After an infuriated sigh, she pulls him into another hug, much tighter and scarier than the first two, and whispers menacingly, “you disappear again, and I will hunt you down and cut your throat. You hear me?”

Keith swallows and nods, knowing Pidge isn’t joking when he’s greeted by a lack of a smile. She pats his shoulder and turns, vanishing as she slips out the back door.

He takes a deep breath, enough to fill his lungs to the brim. Then, calmly and assuredly, he turns to the couch, picks up a pillow, and SCREAMS THE FUCK into it. He realizes belatedly that he's not alone in the room, and hopes to God that Isabelle is decent enough not to tell anyone about it afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my sad stressed mullet boy.
> 
> more tomorrow!


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith discovers that despite their closeness, the Espinosa family is slowly falling apart. Additionally, he's in for a surprise.
> 
> TW: Dementia  
> TW: Racism  
> TW: mentions of Homophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. we gettin' into the HUGE TW here, and i have some disclaimers to make. 
> 
> 1) like with deafness, i'm not intimate with knowing dementia or Alzheimer's. i am in no way trying to romanticize it or mock it; i have the utmost respect for families who deal with the hardships of such a condition. 
> 
> 2) racism, or specifically race-elitism, exists within families - especially immigrant families, and i hate it. but i included it to show that even though it happens, there are opportunities to educate and prove them wrong.
> 
> we're all human. that's not an excuse for being a shitty person, but it is an excuse for momentary lapses of judgement and *some* shitty behaviors. and that's all i have to say on that.
> 
> also... *SPOILER ALERT*
> 
> hi Lance.

**[We Do This Every Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0sca9FP6zl8) **

_(October 30, 4 Days Before the Wedding)_

A door slams shut at around 2:13 am, startling Keith awake. He blinks, adjusting himself to the darkness, before realizing that it was the front door downstairs, and that there are frantic footsteps hurrying out, knocking the door into its frame again.

Keith sits up. The boys are still asleep, oblivious to the chaos downstairs. As quietly as he can, he pads to the window, wiping away the collecting condensation and peering down below.

The porch light is on, and Keith can see a figure hobbling toward the end of the driveway. He’s about to rush downstairs in alarm before he realizes the figure is Isabelle, and trailing closely behind her: Shiro.

 _What the hell?_ He steps into his slippers and stalks downstairs, careful not to make too much noise. As he pushes the screen of the front door open, he hears a soft sob, and turns to find Rosita, knuckles pressed against her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

“Rosita? What—“

Keith doesn’t finish his sentence as he watches Shiro half carry, half drag Isabelle back to the porch. Shiro looks white in the face, his expression more terrified than Keith has ever seen before, and Isabelle is blabbering in frantic, broken Spanish.

 _“Viene, niño! Estará aquí!”_ Isabelle wails, as Shiro bleakly tries to reassure her. _“Lo hemos empujado lejos! Todo lo que quiere es nuestro amor!”_ Isabelle is drenched in sweat, her hair escaping her braid in frail, frizzy pieces. Shiro sits her down in her rocking chair, his words calm but his voice shaking.

Rosita leans into Keith, still sobbing, and automatically, Keith holds her tight. It’s the most unnerving thing he’s ever had to witness, and he’s not sure he can do more to help.

The screen door flies open again and Luis steps out, bleary and red-eyed. “What’s happening?” He asks, alarm seeping quickly into his voice. “Mama? _Qué le pasa a la abuela?”_

No one answers. Instead, Shiro turns shakily toward them, sweat beading on his brow. “Luis, can you get a glass of water?”

Luis nods, mutely, his fingers trembling as he crosses through the door.

Isabelle gasps for breath, her unstable hands clasping around Shiro’s. _“Mi hijo lo hizo mal,”_ she murmurs, swallowing thickly. _“_ Shiro, _mi hijo lo hizo mal.”_

“Who, _abuela?”_ Shiro presses, but Isabelle says nothing then, and simply looks onward, her glazed expression trancelike, seemingly seeing nothing.

* * *

“She’s getting worse, _mijo,”_ Rosita tells Keith later. They’re both wrapped in blankets, the sky now a pale blue to greet the morning sun. Two steaming mugs of coffee – compliments from Shiro – sit on the porch steps between them, though both mugs are untouched.

“It used to happen only on Josef’s birthday and death anniversary. Then it was every few months. Now,” she looks back sadly at the front door, “now, Keith, it’s every few weeks.”

Keith feels inexplicably saddened. “She just says random things?”

Rosita nods, curling tighter into her blanket. “Mostly things about Sebastian – that was her husband, my father-in-law – or Josef. Sometimes, she’ll mention La-lance.” Rosita hiccups, shaking her head, cheeks aflame.

“I apologize, _mijo_ ,” she says, not looking at Keith. “Here you are to celebrate your brother’s special day, and our family is…” She trails off, unsure.

Keith says nothing. The minutes tick by before Rosita speaks again, her voice smaller than Keith had ever heard it. “I haven’t heard from my son in almost three years, Keith. What with _abuela_ going _loco_ , and Josef’s death anniversary coming up, and Marco and Luci… it’s too much to handle sometimes. But I apologize profusely. This is not your burden to bear.”

“Hey,” Keith responds, trying his best to be gentle and soothing. He files down asking about Marco and Lucinda’s situation later, as he figures now is not a good time.

“Look, Shiro is marrying your daughter, which means that she’s about to become my sister. I’ve been told that families stick together. Is that not true anymore?” Rosita shakes her head, bashful.

“Alright then.” Keith can see the sun starting to rise, pink seeping slowly into the sky like ink. He thinks of his mother, wishes desperately that she were here. He thinks she and Rosita would be good friends if they met.

“You’ve got us, Rosita. You don’t have to do this yourself.”

They watch the sunset, still and quiet, and for a tiny, lingering moment, Keith swears he can feel his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

* * *

Randy and Stella surprise everyone at breakfast by sitting on either side of Keith. Both have a book in their hand – Stella thumbs through _How to Succeed in High School_ (Keith laughs inwardly at that) and Randy clutches his usual _Starchild vs. the Galaxy._ The table quiets as everyone stares, but the kids continue on like nothing is unusual, so Keith follows suit.

“Randy’s taken quite a liking to you,” Marco observes to Keith a little later, mildly impressed. “I’ve only ever seen him sit next to Lance at the table.”

Keith isn’t sure whether or not to feel honored by that, and instead nods, not saying anything. Randy is sitting comfortably beside him on the couch, still reading, while Stella is knelt by the coffee table, more tables and fractions spread around her.

The living room is filled with adults. Marco and Lucinda are together on the loveseat, stiff and proper as ever, baby Joey absent from her mother's arms for the first time since Keith’s been here. Veronica sits, impeccably dressed, on the recliner, while Rae hunches in front of her on the footstool.

“Heard you saw _abuela_ last night,” Marco says, eyebrow raised, and Keith nods again. _What is this?_ Keith thinks warily. He tries to ignore the calculating stare Marco has aimed his way. Feeling like he's reciting a report, Keith explains, "Shiro was able to get her calm again, around 3 or so, but I think she and Rosita are still a bit shaken up.”

“I’ll say,” Luis interjects, emerging from the kitchen and detangling Lily from his back, who skips away happily, and Luis sets himself comfortably on the arm of the loveseat. Marco grunts as he tries to scoot away, jostling Lucinda and earning a scowl. “Ma’s trying not to show it, but she’s on the nerve.”

Lucinda scoffs, and when everyone in the room turns to look at her, she shrugs. “Well, I wonder why,” she mutters, and Rae frowns at Lucinda, her narrowed eyes challenging and aggressive. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rae asks. Lucinda gives her a loathing once-over and shrugs again, turning away, her nose pointed into the air. “You should know what I mean, Rancelle,” she states airily, and Keith doesn’t know why he’s suddenly bracing himself.

Rae’s huff of growing irritation is heavy, and she grips the stool with both hands. “Well, do enlighten us, would you? Since you’re so very interesting and know everything about everything.” Keith has a feeling he knows what’s coming. He sees Stella still, finds himself bracing for a fight. Veronica seems to sense the same hostility, because she blurts, “uh, wait, guys—“

Stella tugs on Randy’s shirt before quickly rushing to the next landing. The boy blinks at her in surprise, but this kind of situation must've happened before, because without hesitation, he follows her, scrambling up the stairs, and Lucinda cuts off Veronica as she rises to her feet.

“I mean, it’s not that difficult to see why Rosita’s on edge. We’ve got a guest who this house does not have room for,” she indicates angrily to Keith, “a woman who _should_ be living in a nursing home,” she jerks her thumb down the hall toward Isabelle’s bedroom, “and a wedding we’re _nowhere near_ prepared for! Now, if I were your mother, I’d end the line and make sure everyone who doesn’t belong is out, and that includes your husband-to-be!”

Her speech is met by an uproar of fury, with Rae, Veronica, and Luis flying to their feet. Rae and Luis immediately start shouting Spanish curses at her, while Veronica desperately pleads for order around her siblings. Keith tries to take deep, measured breaths as he too stands, not sure where to go or even, hell, what to _do._

Marco rises to his feet, assuming authority and trying to steer his wife away from his siblings, but Rae has started to prod her finger on Lucinda’s chest, and Lucinda flashes her with a lethal glare.

“Your mother is too kind and she knows it!” Lucinda shouts, waving her arms angrily. “She should be letting go of things she can no longer control!”

 _“Abuela_ is our grandmother!” Rae thunders, starting to launch herself at Lucinda. “She belongs with US! Us, and not anywhere else, you self-preserving _puta!”_

Lucinda lunges toward Rae, just as Veronica cries, “STOP!”

After a chaotic moment where Keith couldn’t tell limb from limb, Marco manages to restrain Lucinda, and Luis manages to restrain Rae, and Keith manages to flatten himself against the wall, feeling too awkward to leave, too uninvited to intervene. Nostrils flaring, Lucinda turns to Veronica, who is on the brink of tears. “You are marrying a man who is not from our community,” she growls, her anger charging the air, “and you are befriending his brother, who knows _nothing_ of our ways, and are requiring _us_ to interact with both of them! Requiring us to have our _children_ interact with both of them! They are dangerous, Veronica, we stick _together—”_ and she spits Spanish phrases that let Veronica’s tears drip down her cheeks.

“That’s _enough_ , Luci,” Luis snarls, stepping between them. “You are out of line! Shiro and Keith are more accepting than you are, and that makes them more _family_ than you are. You think you've got your shit together? Just because you and Marco and your family are crashing here for free—“

“—ALRIGHT,” Marco booms, holding back his wife's arms before she could attack Luis. “Enough. All of you.” He steers Lucinda away, flashing a quick, mortified glance at his sisters before the pair disappear down the hall.

Luis, breathing heavy, turns to Veronica - who is crying softly - and Rae - who is holding Veronica soothingly. He says something so low Keith can’t hear – which, honestly, is fine by Keith – and it’s just at that moment when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” Keith says, a bit louder than intended. He feels their stares as he crosses to the front door, the feeling that they hadn't realized he was still in the room not amiss. He opens the door to reveal Pidge and Hunk’s ecstatic grins.

“Pidge and Hunk are here,” he says lamely, looking back. Luis, Rae, and Veronica say nothing, though their body language all betray mortification.

Nodding, Keith steps outside, ignoring Pidge's frown as he closes the door behind them. “Let’s talk out here,” he decides.

* * *

“She’s a tough one, but I never thought she’d snap like that,” Hunk says forlornly, shaking his head as he tries to roll up the measuring tape.

They’re out in the backyard, Keith pacing thoughtfully, Hunk making some last-minute measurements, and Pidge leaning against the old podium, her chin resting on her fist, typing away at her computer with her free hand.

She snorts at Hunk’s expression of bafflement and turns to Keith, her expression cold. “He’s being generous,” she states, her voice weary, “Lucinda’s straight-up a _bitch_ , and a racist, homophobic, and heartless one at that. She’s always hated Shiro, which is why I’m not surprised she didn’t take a liking to you when you met.”

Keith mulls over the information. While that does make sense, her fury at the family’s insistence to _not_ put Isabelle in a home doesn’t add up. He opens his mouth to ask if either of them know anything about that when the backdoor opens, and Shiro steps out. Shiro smiles at them, tired but pleased. He sits on the back porch, dangling his bare feet on the grass.

“Hey, guys! Whatcha talking about?” Keith almost snorts. Who’s the kid now?

He’s about to change the subject – probably a hasty “nothing!” or feigning mid-discussion on whatever is Pidge and Hunk are working on – when Pidge chimes, “we’re gossiping about your future in-laws.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, and he’s about to say something when he suddenly jumps in alarm. Keith frowns, ready to chide him for being overdramatic, when he sees droopy ears laying on Shiro’s lap. Slav snuggles in, making himself at home as he sits on Shiro’s legs, and Shiro grumbles, irritated. Keith can’t help but smile.

“What – exactly – is the gossip?” Shiro tries, shifting to discourage Slav from getting closer, but to no avail. Hunk and Pidge say nothing. Instead they look anywhere but toward him, pretending to be preoccupied. With a sigh, Keith answers. “It’s about the fight that happened earlier.”

“Ah.” Shiro looks almost ashamed. He fiddles with the bolts on his prosthetic arm. “I’m truly sorry you had to see that, Keith,” he says. “I came downstairs to find Veronica in tears, and Luis told me the whole thing. Lucinda shouldn’t have snapped the way she did, and I think Marco and Anita are talking to her now.” Keith can’t sit still. What _the fuck_ is going on behind their doors? No one starts attacking like that for no reason, even if they are as judgmental as everyone claims Lucinda to be.

He doesn’t think he has the right to ask, though. Pidge and Hunk are basically useless to the conversation, apparently trying to be as polite as possible by giving them some space. So Keith is on his own. With another sigh, he finally sits beside Shiro. “What’s going on with them?” He tries, hesitant. Might as well.

Shiro doesn’t say anything for a moment. He gazes off into the distance, his expression almost wistful. Keith remembers with a start that the reason he’s even here is because Shiro is getting _married._ That he and Veronica have decided to spend the rest of their _lives_ together. Lucinda doesn’t want that, and Keith is suddenly filled with sharp anger, wondering _why?_

“They’re… going through stuff, right now. Basically they’re living here. Rosita was kind enough to let them stay, and I bet the mental strain isn’t doing too well for Luci.” Keith wrinkles his nose. A pitiful excuse, if you ask him.

“She was upset about Isabelle, though? If she and her family are bumming out here, I don’t expect she’d have a say?”

Shiro shrugs. “Luci’s grandmother and Isabelle immigrated together from Cuba. I think Luci’s quite fond of her, but she’s also extremely protective of her own children. They haven’t told me the whole story, but… I believe there was an incident with _abuela_ a few years back when the twins were babies. Ever since, Lucinda hasn’t trusted her around the kids.”

“She _hates_ that you’re marrying Veronica,” Keith adds, and Shiro nods, not looking the least bit surprised.

“That she is,” Shiro says sadly, and to Keith’s surprise, he watches as Shiro absentmindedly starts to pet Slav.

“Lucinda hasn’t kept that a secret from me, in case you’re wondering, and I should’ve warned you beforehand that she’s like that. For that, I’m sorry. She’s traditional, and I think she believes in marrying ‘within the culture.’ Since I’m openly pansexual and very much _not_ Cuban—“

“—well, at least you speak Spanish!”

“ _But_ , if you'll recall, that’s because I took Spanish for four years in high school.”

“Well… still.” Keith understands prejudices – growing up half-Korean with a white dad, a Japanese stepmother, and a half-Japanese half-brother will do that to a kid – but he still doesn’t like it.

“Look, Keith, I know what you're thinking. I do. She absolutely shouldn’t be acting that way toward you or me. But families are messy, and other than her snapping like that or - God forbid - her _attacking_ anyone, Lucinda can believe whatever she wants to believe. She’s only human; I don’t fault her for that.”

Keith doesn’t say anything for a while. He simply watches Hunk and Pidge, who are starting to argue over which lights should go where. Pidge is waving her arms wildly, her glasses slipping down to her nose. Hunk’s expression is pure bafflement, his eyebrows dancing on his face as they flip between looking incredulous and looking resigned.

“Doesn’t it bother you, Shiro?” Keith finally asks, just as Pidge starts to chase Hunk around the backyard, and Slav – not wanting to be left out of the excitement – barks and jumps out of Shiro’s lap to join them. “Doesn’t it bother you, becoming a part of a family that messy?” Shiro looks at Keith, clearly understanding something about him that even Keith doesn’t know how to realize.

“Families are messy,” he repeats, his tone fierce and casual all the same. “And Veronica is worth all of it.”

* * *

Hunk and Pidge stay for dinner.

Keith hadn’t realized how much he missed Hunk’s cooking until both he and Rosita emerge from the kitchen, hands full of steaming pots of glorious Cuban and Polynesian food.

Everyone is set up in the backyard. Though most of the lights for the wedding still need to be placed, there’s enough to illuminate the white 12-seater table Marco and Rae had taken from the attic. A kids’ table, pink plastic and circular, is arranged on the porch, and Stella sits like a queen as she regards her cousins carefully. Keith is wary to sit as far away from Lucinda as possible, and ends up between Veronica and Pidge.

“ _Ha pasado tanto tiempo desde que te hemos visto, jovencita,_ ” Isabelle gushes to Pidge before she sits down. “ _Me encanta el corte de pelo_!” After Isabelle sits and Veronica translates, Pidge leans closer to Keith, baffled. “I’ve had this haircut since we graduated college,” she hisses, and Keith nods sadly.

Nonetheless, it’s the most fun Keith has had since he’s gotten here. Hunk sits down across from Pidge, and Luis right next to Hunk, so the anecdotes of what-Hunk-and-Pidge-have-been-up-to-since-college and growing-up-with-the-Espinosas are endless. Keith finds himself beaming proud when Hunk tells them how he introduced his girlfriend, Shay, to his little sister for the first time; Keith laughs when Luis recalls the time they accidentally chased a seven-year-old Veronica into a trashcan; Keith scowls when Shiro butts in with stories of young Keith and his childhood dog, Cosmo. Keith glances at Rosita throughout the dinner, who looks peaceful, and then at Lucinda, who still looks steamed. He tries to ignore the daggers Lucinda glares his way.

Right after his fifth plate of pineapple ribs and _pernil asado_ , Luis lets out a loud belch and stands from the table. “ _Gracias_ , Mama! And Hunk? _Fantastic_ ribs! But we best be going.” He nods at Rae, who also stands, wiping her mouth hastily with one hand and sneaking another roll with the other.

“ _A dónde vas_?” Rosita asks, surprised, and Luis kisses Anita’s head before straightening. “It’s an old friend, Mama,” Rae replies, slipping on her beanie, “he needs a ride home from the airport, and we promised we’d give him one.”

“But the airport is half an hour away,” Marco protests. “Surely your friend can find someone else?” Neither of the them answer, and instead, Luis chuckles before they turn back toward the house. Rosita sighs heavily, taking another sip from her glass. “They’ve been so secretive lately,” she laments, and Marco puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

As the conversations start back up, Keith watches Luis and Rae curiously. He doesn’t miss the way Randy leaps out of his seat as his father approaches. The kid holds up his arms at Rae, who immediately picks him up before the three of them disappear into the house.

“Odd,” Veronica murmurs, almost to herself. She meets Keith’s eyes, and tries for a small, hesitant smile.

“Keith,” she says, turning a deep shade of scarlet, “I-I want to apologize. For earlier. You should not have had to see us fighting like that. It was wrong and—“

Keith silences her by placing his hand on hers. Veronica blinks at him, bewildered, before she breaks into a smile and kisses him on the cheek.

* * *

Keith volunteers to gather the dishes after everybody is done. Anita had insisted on building a small bonfire – “In this humid heat?” Lucinda, who had been immediately overruled by her children, had scoffed – and is now instructing the twins on how to make s’mores.

He had just gathered all the cups from the kids’ table when he hears a shrill scream and the shattering of glass. Alarmed, Keith looks around frantically before realizing the sound was coming from inside the house.

He hastily struggles with the cups as he races into the house… only to stop dead in his tracks. There, at the doorway of the kitchen, is Rosita. Her hands are pressed to her mouth, her eyes filled with tears, shards of glass around her slippered feet.

Across from her is Luis, looking bashful, Randy, looking jubilant, and Rae, looking bored. And right behind the three of them, looking very, very tired—

—is Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEE! these dorks deserve all the world!!!
> 
> sidenote lol: the trashcan story is a Real Thing that happened to my aunt as a kid. you may find that there's a lot of that to come.
> 
> an author who puts real-life experiences in a gay fanfic: impressive or pitiful? u decide.
> 
> ch 4 is on its way!


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets come out from the grave on this Halloween night.
> 
> TW: implied Internalized Homophobia  
> TW: mentions of Parental Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woof. this is the first tough chapter tbh.
> 
> so disclaimer: i aint a stranger to homophobia in the family. and while its not explicitly stated in this chapter, i still included a TW bc it did stir some raw emotions while i was writing it. to my family, i am a closeted bisexual, so i understand what Lance went through, and based it on my own experience in the matter. 
> 
> also, it's not a TW but should be mentioned, there is - responsible! - drinking and cigarette smoking in this chapter. its Halloween! the Espinosas + Gane bros should live a little. that being said, don't smoke, kids.
> 
> here it is

**[Leave This Blue Neighborhood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3awzvNrKDsg) **

_(October 31: Halloween, 3 Days Before the Wedding)_

Keith can’t sleep.

The boys have been out for hours, and he’s been splayed out, curled up, and tangled in the sheets for even longer. Of all the nights to haunt him with his usual insomnia, this night is not the best one.

He can’t sleep.

The cuckoo clock downstairs chimes thrice, faintly echoing throughout the hallways. He thinks he hears a creaking noise, but it could very well be his imagination. It would be fine if it was _just_ restlessness. Keith has combated that before. The problem tonight is simple.

He can’t stop thinking either.

The scene replays in his head, skipping to the frame of Luis and Rae in the doorway, Rosita in tears, and Lance, looking exhausted and disheveled, dragging his suitcase in a way that was obviously reluctant, but attempting a smile nonetheless.

Keith sighs, scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He had been dreading the moment for days. Amid the chaos of Lance’s family swarming around him, Keith had escaped to the loft. He had feigned sleep, through Shiro’s concerned prodding, through the boys getting ready for bed, and even through Lance setting up his own cot – as far away from Keith as possible.

He shifts in his cot now, gritting his teeth. The seconds tick by. He tries counting sheep, but the sheep start forming blue eyes and brown hair and he has to will them away. He tries to lay completely still, though the itch on his chest where Lance’s ink lion lies prickles with aching. He even tries to massage his temple, just like his dad used to do when he was a kid.

It’s when he’s raising his hand to his face that he hears the clatter downstairs, like a soup can falling on Rosita’s immaculate floor. He frowns, ears straining as he hears a barely-audible hiss of pain.

Sitting upright, Keith scans the room. Randy is dead asleep, back curved toward him, no doubt squeezing poor Blue to death. Mateo’s head is lolling with his mouth open, and Miguel is dangling halfway off his cot, though both boys are so deep in dreams Keith doubts that anything other than Rosita banging two frying pans together could wake them up.

He squints through the dark and spots the last cot at the opposite end of the room, shoved into the little alcove in the wall. He notes its emptiness. Lance’s suitcase is placed neatly at the foot of the cot, the blue blanket stretched delicately across the foam mattress.

Of course Lance is downstairs.

Keith rolls his eyes, debating. He could stay up here, in anxious agony, dying for sleep but nowhere near tired enough to get there, or he could go downstairs.

Downstairs could mean a confrontation, or a confession, or maybe, at the very least, a conversation. Oddly enough, Keith finds that preferable to rolling around, feigning dreams.

Keith slips out of bed as quietly as he can. He’s well aware that he leaves his sheets in a scrambled heap, something Lance got onto him a lot about when they lived together.

He pushes the memory out of his mind, careful not to make too much noise.

* * *

The kitchen light is flickering, and a slim shadow darts between the cabinets. Keith can’t help but recall the scene as familiar.

He stops at the doorjamb to watch.

Lance, in all his 6’2” glory, still has to stand on his toes to unscrew one of the wall vents near the ceiling. Though he’s turned toward the wall, Keith can tell from the tautness of his shoulder blades how focused he is with the task at hand. The task, Keith realizes belatedly, to steal Marco’s cookie stash.

Keith can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth, especially when Lance curses lowly in Spanish and yanks frantically on the vent cover in frustration. He sighs, huffing, when the vent refuses to budge, and simply stares at it, hands on his hips.

Keith has no issue with that; he’s content to observe.

Lance is still _beautiful._ Keith had always known that, and even now it hasn’t changed. The unkempt hair around his head is ruffled and uneven, as if he had trouble sleeping too. The back of his neck looks slightly sunburned, piquing Keith’s curiosity to Lance’s whereabouts all these years.

Though, there is a sharpness to him that wasn’t there before, an uncharacteristic spike of seriousness and weight. If Keith didn’t know any better, he’d think that lanky, hyperactive, three-stomach Lance had been skipping meals lately, though the thought was laughable. He recounts the times he had coerced Lance to join him on a workout diet, which was promptly abandoned within hours of the start.

Yet as Lance turns slightly – still muttering – Keith can practically see the indentations on his hipbones through the thin fabric of Lance’s blue pajama pants, see the bones of his ribs through his white shirt, hemmed too short. He looks… _gaunt,_ and tired, and unhappy, though that last observation may be because of his failed attempt to snag the cookies.

Then Lance turns completely. He spots Keith.

Both are frozen, not daring to move or breathe. Keith is acutely aware that this is their first time alone together since the alley almost four years back. He still can’t seem to do anything but stare into those haunting blue eyes.

Lance blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a harsh swallow.

“Keith,” he tries, his voice raspy, and Keith is grateful that he feels more put-together than he probably looks.

“Lance,” Keith says, the taste of bile immediately filling his mouth.

He _hates_ this.

They _knew_ each other. They were best friends; for God’s sake, they were _in love_. He would’ve married Lance if given an opportunity. Yet now, in the flickering kitchen of his ex-boyfriend’s childhood home, they look at each other as if they were _strangers_.

They probably are, now. Keith had been expecting to feel anger, or resentment. Alas, he only feels sorrow. Grief, perhaps, though that can’t be right, can it? Lance is still here, still alive. 

But whatever was between them had died, years ago.

Lance swallows again, and Keith can’t help but stare at his fiddling fingers. “Can’t sleep?” Lance shakes his head, hesitant to break the silence.

“I was gonna make some milk,” he states. A fact.

Keith nods, prying his eyes away and walking toward the sink. He turns on the faucet to wash his hands. For a minute, the running water is the only sound that fills the air. When he turns again, drying his hands on a paper towel, Lance hasn’t moved. He looks… struck. Like Keith was the last thing he had ever expected to see. _That’s probably true,_ Keith thinks bitterly, recalling that though he had talked about Shiro in the past, Lance had never met his brother.

“Milk?” Keith asks, trying not to look too desperate, and as if he were a robot suddenly activated to life, Lance turns toward the fridge. Keith takes out two glasses from the top cabinet as Lance pulls out the milk jug. Giving a quick once-over at Rosita’s spices, Keith also takes the honey, and – after a blissful moment of reminiscence – the vanilla.

He sets the glasses and ingredients on the counter, and without speaking, Lance pours. Keith measures out a tablespoon of honey and a dash of vanilla in each glass before Lance places them gently in the microwave. For a brief, unsettling moment, they’re okay. There are no fights to be had, no arguments to win, no brokenness to be fixed. Lance even smiles small at Keith when he nearly drops the jug.

After the microwave beeps, they wordlessly take their glasses and sit at the table, across from one another. Keith is aware of his heart thudding relentlessly against his ribcage, and chooses to ignore it. While this man may no longer be _his_ Lance, he’s still _Lance_. And Keith can’t help but realize how much he’s missed him.

They sip their milk quietly for some time. The ticking of the clock seems to pull Keith in and out of memories, and it isn’t until Lance clears his throat that Keith realizes he’s back in Rosita’s kitchen, and not in their apartment in Arizona.

“I, uh, heard you’re living in New York City, now.” It’s not a question, and Keith somehow isn’t surprised he knows it about him. “Manhattan,” he replies to the not-question query, and jerks his head gently in Lance’s direction.

“I heard you’ve been MIA.” The lilt at the end of the statement is filled with curiosity, and Lance shrugs. “Been chasing Dreamer.” Keith tilts his head at that, suddenly intrigued. “You mean… the constellation you discovered sophomore year?” He asks, and Lance nods.

“My grant was accepted early last year, so I’ve kinda just been going where the stars take me. Dreamer is gorgeous but a bit of a bitch to follow.”

Keith can’t help but be impressed. Having dropped out of college to go to trade school, he has to admire Lance’s tenacity at astrology. It was his interest then, and apparently, even now. It was something – oddly enough – that Lance had shared with Keith’s mother. For the few months Keith had known her, Krolia was obsessed with outer space.

“Your mom was worried about you,” Keith blurts, suddenly desperate to know why he hadn’t called his mother, and the startled look Lance gives him makes Keith think for a brief moment that he had crossed a line. Instead, trying not to gape, Lance says, “I know.”

Silence. Feeling too awkward to continue, Keith gulps down his milk to fill the void of empty sound. Lance opens his mouth to say something else, _anything_ else, Keith reckons, when a soft _thud_ is heard from the stairs.

Lance is immediately on high alert, and with a quick glance at each other, the two stand, toeing around the wood to investigate. Lance springs the light on in the landing and exclaims in surprise as Randy is illuminated, sprawled at the bottom of the steps, his owlish eyes wide.

“ _Buen dios, nino,_ ” Lance sighs, gently picking him up and dusting him off. Lance speaks as he signs, maybe for Keith’s benefit, but also maybe not. The gesture seems habitual.

“What are you doing awake?”

_“I saw you and Uncle Keith were out of bed.”_

The explanation is simple, and Keith starts when Randy says “Uncle Keith.” Then he remembers that – duh, he’s Shiro’s brother. Of course he’d be Uncle Keith after the wedding.

Lance blinks at him, and for a moment, no one moves. Keith notices that Randy’s fingers tighten around one of the paws of his blue lion stuffie, and blurts, “Would you like some milk?” Lance stares at Keith, as if that were the last thing he had expected him to say, but after Keith’s insistent nod, Lance signs to Randy, who immediately signs back.

“ _Yes please! Can Blue come?”_ He gently waggles his stuffie, and Lance smiles. He turns to Keith, eyebrow raised, and Keith has to smile too. “Of course she can.”

A third glass of vanilla-honeyed milk is warmed, and Randy excitedly climbs into his chair next to Lance. When he realizes that Keith is alone at his side of the table, Randy pushes Blue toward him.

 _“So you have someone to sit next to,_ ” he explains, and Keith gently arranges Blue so that she sits protectively at the table. He tries not to dwell on the smell of popcorn, the noise of the carnival, the feeling of Lance’s lips on his cheekbone—

“—Keith?”

Both Randy and Lance are staring hard at him, as if convinced he’s checked out. “Are you alright?” Lance asks, low, without bothering to sign for Randy’s benefit. The question is just for Keith.

He nods, patting Blue carefully and attempting a bittersweet smile. “Yes,” he says, and signs to Randy with the little sign language he knows, “ _thank you._ ”

* * *

Keith finally passes out a little after dawn. He awakens to an empty loft and the sun – alarmingly – starting to set.

He hurries downstairs, ready to explain to Veronica and Rosita why he’s been a useless lump all day when he comes across a sight that makes him halt in his tracks.

All the Espinosa grandchildren are gathered in the living room, with Isabelle, Rosita, Veronica, Anita, Shiro, Rae, Lucinda, and Lance among them. There is a flurry of fabric and props and accessories and Keith is startled to realize that the mess is in fact, a pile Halloween costumes, and that the children are getting ready to go trick-or-treating. Bouts of Spanish are scattered around the room, as well as tosses of fabric, yelps of alarm, or flailing limbs.

“Keith!” Rae calls up at him, and Keith blinks, stepping down the landing. Rae gives up trying to fit a tunic over Randy’s head and as he waddles away, she break off to meet him at the steps, slightly winded.

“So,” she pants, and Keith notices a fresh bruise blossoming on her shoulder, “my nauseating siblings are demanding a ‘couples’ night’ with their respective significant others, and it looks like Lance and I are taking the kids trick-or-treating. You probably don't want to watch the lovefest, so you’re coming with us.” It's more a request than a demand, and Keith would've reacted aversely if he hadn't caught Rae's slightly hesitant expression of uncertainty.

On one hand, an evening with Lance and his sister, seven children, and an old beagle doesn’t sound very appealing. Keith looks toward Shiro, whose arm is draped around Veronica’s shoulders, laughing as Stella shows off her new costume.

On the other hand, watching his brother with his fiancé may be even less appealing.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, begrudgingly, and Rae beams at him. Before she can turn around, however, he points at her shoulder. “How’d you get that?”

She jerks her head toward Miguel and Mateo, who are hitting each other with wooden sticks. “How do you think?” She laughs, ruffling Keith’s hair and skipping back toward the fray.

After another half hour of struggle, the children are finally ready to go, and even Keith has to admit to being impressed.

The theme this Halloween is Star Wars, and to his delight, each child is dressed and accessorized to full Star Wars spirit. Lance had even bought them collapsible lightsabers in true fashion to their counterparts. Stella had wanted to go as Rey, complete with her black hair into three little buns and a wooden bow-staff that Marco had carved. She wields both lightsaber and staff with delicate precision, and Keith wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him the child takes martial arts classes on the regular.

Keeping with the theme of “partners-in-crime,” Miguel and Mateo are dressed as Han Solo and Chewbacca respectively, Miguel apparently having won the Han Solo costume over his cousin with a not-so-fair game of rock-paper-scissors. Keith recognizes part of Mateo’s Chewbacca costume as the bundle of rags he saw Isabelle sewing the other day.

The twins had both wanted to be Queen Amidala, but after much coercing by their mother, Marla had decided to go as Padme: though she wears considerably less makeup, she gets to carry a fake gun.

Randy is going as Luke Skywalker, and had begged Rosita to let them dress Slav up as Yoda. Keith laughs when Slav pads into the room, his stout little body fitted into a green dog-sized sweater, a headband with pointy green ears sitting comfortably on his head.

Even baby Joey is dressed as Princess Leia, her usual bundle of blankets swapped for white and peach, a tiny, knitted headband with twin princess buns placed delicately on her head. She stirs once or twice as she’s passed from one adult to another, but by the time Rae takes a hold (much to Lucinda's obvious displeasure,) the baby is sound asleep once again.

At last, they’re ready to embark, and Keith - having gotten swept up in the fantasy and excitement – feels ready. He realizes with a start as they’re slipping on their shoes that he hasn’t gone trick-or-treating since he and Shiro were children. Looking back at his brother, Keith sees Shiro, looking wistful but content, who gives him a thankful, understanding nod. Keith nods back before he closes the door behind him.

* * *

The group spreads apart almost immediately. Miguel and Mateo take the lead, hollering insults in both Spanish and English as they race forward. Randy and the twins drag Lance ahead, excited to hear about his recent travels. Stella lags behind, Slav’s leash tied taut to her staff, which leaves Keith and Rae (and baby Joey in her arms) at the rear.

Aside from her usual beanie, Rae is wearing all black today: a black skeleton-patterned button-down (with skull buttons? Color Keith _impressed_ ) which is rolled up at the sleeves, and faded black skinny jeans with holes in the knees. She doesn’t say anything at first, and Keith is content to merely watch the chaos unfold in front of him rather than step in and get involved. It isn’t until they reach several houses down that Rae turns to Keith, her expression mildly curious.

“So, how long did you and Lance date?” Keith splutters on nothing, chokes on air. After a couple of raking coughs, he manages to wheeze, “how did you find that out?”

Rae laughs, “what, you think you two weren’t obvious?” Keith opens his mouth to protest, but Rae beats him to it. “It’s not just you, don’t worry. Lance isn’t exactly subtle.” She gestures to him now, as he chases Lily and Marla playfully around a parked car on one of the driveways.

Gaping, Keith turns to her, still confused. “But… you guessed? How did you find out? _When_ did you find out?”

Rae smiles. “Honestly, Keith, I figured out the moment you asked about Lance’s wife, you know, your first day here? Lance had mentioned you before, but only by description.”

Keith shakes his head. “So… Lance _did_ tell you guys about me, then? I was under the impression I was some sort of, er, well, secret.”

Rae’s smile falters immediately, and she glances, concerned, at her brother yet again. They’ve stopped by the house at the end of block, and children are all filing down the sidewalks, trading candy or boasting about their finds. Lance ushers the kids up the driveway, his expression not unlike a kid in a candy store.

“Only I know,” Rae says heavily, and Keith frowns, confused. “But then—“

“—we’re alike, he and I. More than anyone in our family realizes.” Rae shifts Joey gently and looks at Keith, a certain sadness in her eyes. “I understand what he went though, being closeted and all. You see, I’m gay too.”

* * *

“Lance came out to me when he was 15.”

They’re sitting in the gutter next to the largest house in the neighborhood, the mini-mansion of the Altea family. Lance and the kids are standing in the middle of the long queue, to which the top of the head of the red-haired butler is the only sight to be seen past the door.

“I remember him being so confused, because he had a crush on the Alteas’ daughter, Allura,” she indicates to the white and blue house with her thumb, “as well as Rolo, the kid down the block. He didn’t know how it was possible to like two people of different genders.” Keith rubs the concrete with the toe of his shoe. “I always wondered why he didn’t approach Veronica, and I think it’s because he had a feeling I understood more.” Rae continues. “I’ve loved girls since I was ten years old.”

“And your parents didn’t know about it?” Keith asks, to which Rae shakes her head frantically. “Oh, no. Mama still doesn’t know. It’s a secret we’ve kept from everyone for years, although I do believe at least Veronica and _abuela_ have their suspicions.”

Rae looks wistfully down the street, and Keith sees the streetlights gleam on the rainbow pin on her beanie. “Luis knows about me. I can’t hide anything from him, but I’ve promised to keep Lance’s story quiet from them until he’s ready.”

There’s a silence. There’s something picking at Keith, something that had been bothering him for a long time.

“Are… are you guys _close_ with Lance? Like I know he’s your brother and all, but hardly anyone except your mom mentioned him before he showed up, and even Shiro doesn’t seem to know that much about him. I know he disappeared for a few years but… just, what’s up with that?”

Rae doesn’t say anything. Children behind them are laughing and shrieking, and Keith feels that maybe this isn’t the appropriate time to ask such a loaded question.

“I’m sorry,” he says hastily. “I don’t mean to cross the line.”

“You didn’t,” Rae assures him, and sighs as she readjusts Joey in her arms. “Lance is… _different_. Look, we were all pretty close growing up, right? Marco is a year older than me and Luis, and Veronica is only two years younger. We went to the same schools, same church groups, had similar friends.” Keith notices for the first time that Rae has a tattoo of a feather behind her right ear. Letters wrap around it: SE and JE. He wonders what they’re for.

“A little after Veronica turned eight, Mama announced she was pregnant. I was only a kid, but even then, but I could tell Papa was _not_ happy about the news. They fought _all_ the time, and I have no idea what Papa said to her then. Mama never talks about it.” Rae shakes her head, forlorn. “Lance was born that July, and he was much younger than the rest of us, so we didn’t really know what to do with him.”

Keith hears a loud shout behind him, and turns to see Lance and the others now at the door, their candy sacks opened wide.

“We were a serious family. Papa took pride in showing us off: his well-behaved children. Luis was our class clown, but he was too scared of Papa to openly rebel. We all were. You _had_ to rebel in some way to get through what we went through. Marco started drinking, Luis started smoking, I would kiss girls, and Veronica would sneak out of the house sometimes. But Lance?” Rae almost laughs, though the gesture is laced with utter pity. “Lance did not give a _fuck_ at first. When he was younger, he wasn’t afraid of anything. He did what he wanted when he wanted to, and it wasn’t until Papa started threatening him to ‘man up’ or ‘grow up’ that Lance started becoming… well, what he is now.”

Rae jerks her head to the direction of her brother, who is skipping toward them, obviously racing against Stella and the twins.

"Lance took Papa’s death the hardest. He took everything the hardest, growing up. And unfortunately,” Rae stares at her brother and her nieces, almost as if regretting what she’s about to say next. “Unfortunately, we were too caught up in our own grief that none of us paid attention.”

* * *

They manage to bring the kids home whole and happy – though Keith did have to chase down Slav twice, and Lance had to prevent Mateo from sticking his tongue to a telephone wire – and the children immediately dump out their candy bags to sift through the loot. Rae hands Joey off to Rosita before disappearing down the basement, and after all the kids are accounted for, Rosita shoos Lance and Keith downstairs as well.

The pair don’t speak as they descend down, to which Keith can hear boisterous laughter and smell – dear God – _smell_ the taunts of the tobacco and booze. Shiro, Veronica, Marco, Lucinda, Anita, and Luis are all there, and Keith immediately understands that this may be a... Halloween party. Shiro, Marco, and Luis are at the ping-pong table, playing an elaborate drinking game as music blares softly through the speakers beside them. Across the room, Veronica and Anita each have a cocktail in their hands, while Lucinda sits next to the narrow window behind them, her carton of cigarettes propped against a bottle of beer.

Lance’s wrist brushes against Keith’s as he joins Rae to the cooler, and for a moment, he freezes. Their eyes meet. Keith is – and always will be – struck by the lightning-blue of Lance’s irises.

With a light blush coloring his face, Lance clears his throat and steps carefully around Keith before entering the party, and Keith considers for the briefest of eternities to go upstairs and melt into bed. Then he sees Shiro’s expression of bemusement and happiness, Veronica’s heart-eyes, Rae’s lazy, relaxed pose against the sofa.

 _Oh, what the hell,_ Keith grumbles to himself, and he fishes out his own box of cigarettes as he too joins the fray.

“How was trick-or-treating?” Anita asks as he approaches, and Keith shrugs, popping a cigarette between his lips. “Lance handled most of it, honestly,” he admits, and Anita smiles.

“I’d expect nothing less from him. He’s always been good with children.”

Keith reaches into his pocket for a lighter, and comes out empty. He gives the softest grumble before he finds one being waved at his face. Blinking, Keith realizes the person holding the lighter is none other than Lucinda, and her cold stare convinces him to accept it before she attacks.

“Uh, thanks,” he says lamely, and Lucinda exhales slowly, smoke curling around her like a serpent.

“This is the only window,” she explains, and Keith looks around to discover that the window next to Lucinda is indeed the only window in the basement. Sighing internally, Keith goes to stand next to her as his cigarette flickers to life. He watches the strangely elaborate drinking game Shiro, Luis, and Marco are playing. Marco looks much more amused than Keith has ever seen him, and Keith notes that he much prefers a Marco-having-fun than a Marco-being-strict.

“He hasn’t been like that in ages,” Lucinda says, as if reading Keith’s mind, and he starts, glancing at her. He considers asking her to elaborate, but she looks so peaceful. The last thing Keith would want to do is incite another argument. So instead, he looks around the room.

Veronica and Anita have scooted over to let Lance sit next to them, and Rae is draped over the sofa arm like it’s no big deal. Keith notes that Lance looks so lost and out of place as he brings his bottle to his lips.

“How come no one else is playing?” Keith asks, and Lucinda raises a brow.

“It’s a drinking game tradition that was started by _Abuelo_ Sebastian,” she explains, her voice soft and cold at the same time. “When a daughter gets married, her brothers will play _chug de cerveza_ with her husband-to-be.”

Keith indicates confusedly at Lance. “Is Lance not her brother too?”

Lucinda’s lip curls slightly, a way that Keith could only describe as a snarl. But as her eyes flicker uncertainly between Lance and Marco, Keith realizes that her hostility isn’t directed toward Lance at all.

“He is indeed,” she mutters, and says nothing else on the matter.

After about half an hour, Luis pulls out three cigars from his front pocket, and hands the other two to Marco and Shiro. To Keith’s horror, it’s like they’ve dismissed Lance entirely, and he keeps watching Lance’s expression for anything other than exhausted disappointment. It isn’t until Marco bellows, “to Shiro! The brother we’ve never had!” and the others except Keith, Lance, and Veronica chime, “hear, hear!” that Lance stands abruptly, his expression so twisted with pain that whole party grinds to a quiet halt.

As if realizing all attention had been diverted to him, Lance apologetically shakes his head and shuffles to the stairs when the faint shrill of the cuckoo clock is heard from upstairs. All the Espinosa children freeze. Anita looks around wildly, and Lucinda leans forward, extinguishing her cigarette with urgency.

The clock chimes… twice… five times… ten times… eleven… twelve.

“Midnight,” Veronica murmurs, “It’s _Dia De Los Muertos_.” and suddenly the room is filled with a very heavy weight. Shiro meets Keith’s gaze, and he looks as lost as Keith feels.

After a moment of silence, Rae raises her beer bottle, and all the Espinosa children follow suit – except Lance, who sits on the bottom stair, his eyes suddenly red with emotion.

“To Papa,” Marco says, his voice rough, the spell broken. Lucinda sighs, and when Keith glances at her, she betrays nothing as she stares stonily ahead. “I’d advise you to brace yourself, Keith,” she says, a hard edge to her voice that Keith can only recognize as shared pain.

“Today is their most difficult day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft Klance and angsty Lance backstory is my life now and my bf hates me for it.
> 
> see ya tomorrow!


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finds himself picking up the fragments left behind during the Day of the Dead.
> 
> TW: Conversations about Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it seems that i talk abt death a little lightheartedly in this chapter, i apologize. i didnt want to make it too dark and angsty bc theres more ANGST up ahead and the death of a loved one(s) is dark enough as is.
> 
> also, just a sidenote, this fic is difficult for me to write sometimes cause i do base some things off experiences - whether it be mine or someone elses. so for the sake of NOT triggering myself and spiraling into a deeper rabbit hole of unproductivity, crying spells, and ice cream (SO much ice cream), i had to hold off with some of the darker shit. hope yall can understand that.
> 
> okie dokie here we go

**[If You Have Nightmares, We'll Dance On the Bed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EEG_Sq580A) **

_(November 1: Dia De Los Muertos, 2 Days Before the Wedding)_

The rest of the night is subdued.

While the others mill about, a certain soberness falling around them, Keith decides to head upstairs – to go to _bed_ and certainly not to check on Lance.

However, his flimsy plan to absolutely _not_ interact with Lance is thwarted when he sees him sitting at the foot of the stairs.

His head is buried in his hands, his spine curved in a way Keith would think feels very painful. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a roughness to his hair, and Keith suspects that the little booze he had consumed downstairs could only have worsened his condition.

Keith only saw him like this once before, a very long time ago. It was before they even started dating, when Keith had come across the latter on the rooftop, shortly after Lance had received a call that his dream job at the Lowell Observatory had been denied.

Keith recognizes it as helplessness, and he also knows from experience that Lance can’t be left alone.

So with a sigh, he gets a glass of water from the kitchen, a couple aspirins from the downstairs bathroom medicine cabinet. As he pads back to the living room, he notices that Lance still hadn’t moved, and he sets the glass and the pills on the coffee table as he goes to scrounge the linen closet for some pillows and a blanket. He doesn't think Rosita would mind if they borrow a couple.

He finds himself muttering angrily in his head: _stupid Lance, stupid Shiro, stupid Florida and all the drama I’ve gotten myself involved in;_ but as he gently rifles through Rosita’s hand-stitched quilts, he realizes that he finds himself growing attached to this place.

Yes, it’s a chaotic family. They’ve got their own secrets, their own fabrications, their own ups, downs, side-to-sides. But it’s a _family_. A family who – for the most part – have embraced Keith with open arms.

A groan resounds from the living room, snapping Keith out of his reverie, and he goes to find Lance sprawled on the floor, clutching his stomach.

Keith takes a deep breath and counts to ten. He flings the pillows and blanket on the couch, gently hauls Lance to his feet, and guides him to the bathroom, where Lance give a spectacular belch and promptly falls on his knees, face over the toilet. Keith tucks his nose inside his shirt collar, trying not to gag from the smell.

After a while, Lance manages to clean up, waving Keith away with sloppy motions, and Keith has to half drag, half carry Lance down the hall. Lance accepts the aspirins without protest, gulps down the water greedily, and snuggles into the pillows as Keith throws the blanket around him.

With a sigh of relief, Keith stands to go upstairs so _he_ could get some rest, when slim fingers reach out and grasp his wrist tightly.

Startled, Keith looks down. Lance’s blue eyes, watering with tears – either from the vomiting or from emotions, Keith isn’t sure – bare uncertainly at him. A moment of silence passes between them, and Keith knows what he is about to ask long before he asks it.

“Stay w’ me?”

The softness of the question shoots warm fire down Keith’s back. He can’t say no; he’s never been able to. Keith opens his mouth to answer, but a lump sticks to his throat. So, he makes a hand gesture that tells Lance _move over_ , and obediently, Lance does.

The feeling is so familiar.

Arms wrapped around his back, Lance’s soft breathing in his ear, the rapid _thudding_ of Lance’s chest pressed tight against Keith’s ribs. It shouldn’t be familiar. It should be strange and revolting.

Keith falls into a dreamless sleep nonetheless.

* * *

He wakes alone.

Well, not entirely alone.

Rays of dawn are just starting to filter in through the window. The blankets are strewn about, the glass – empty now – still on the coffee table. Keith sits upright to find that sometime in the middle of the night, Lance had abandoned him.

He wonders if anyone saw them together, and what _that_ repercussion may hold.

Keith yawns, too tired to be angry or worried, and stands to fold the blankets carefully when a soft laugh echoes from beside him. He jumps, gaping at the now visible figure of Isabelle, sitting peacefully on her chair.

“ _Buenos dias,_ Keith,” she says cheerfully, her hands clasped together. Keith understands that much, but has she been _watching_ him this whole time?

“Um, good morning, _Abuela_ Isabelle,” Keith tries, and mentally berates himself for looking so stupid.

“You are looking for Alejandro, no?” Isabelle says, and Keith jaw practically falls open. Isabelle speaks English? He thinks it’d be rude to voice that particular inquiry aloud, but it must be plainly written on his face, because Isabelle laughs again, not unkindly.

“Back then, they would not let me into this country if my English was not subpar, at the very least,” Isabelle explains, and shakily stands from her chair. Keith leans forward automatically to help stabilize her, but Isabelle gently waves him off and picks up one of the blankets on the couch.

“Alejandro awoke in the middle of your slumber.” She glances at him, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling, and from here, Keith is startled to see her eyes the same blue shade as Lance’s.

“He did not want to wake you, I think. So he left quietly.”

Keith says nothing and only watches carefully as Isabelle folds one of the blankets with the utmost gentleness. “How clever of you to find Sebastian and I’s wedding quilt,” she observes, and he finds his face heating in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry,” he blurts, but Isabelle only smiles.

“I am not angry. I made it for all to share, _mijo_.” She places the quilt gently atop the pile of pillows Keith had hastily arranged and turns to him, suddenly serious.

“You and Alejandro have met before, have you not?” She asks, and Keith nods, slow and hesitant.

“Yes,” he admits. “We were… friends in college.” Isabelle looks him over, thoughtful. After a moment of mulling, she clicks her tongue, satisfied with her analysis.

“You are a good fit,” she says, shuffling toward the kitchen, and Keith frowns after her.

“But,” he protests, following her past the hallway, “What do you mean? _Abuela,_ we’re not even together.”

“Did I say you were? Oh, silly me, my apologies.” She had opened the door to the cabinet and nearly crushed Keith’s fingers with the handle. Holding the door with a withered hand, she peers at him, a certain elderly wisdom embarking on her features.

“Do two souls have to be in love to fit together? Do they have to be perfect to prevent breaking apart? Marco and Luciana were not in love when they married, yet here they are, and they are a wonderful team for their children.”

She turns back to the contents of the cabinets, murmuring a soft inventory, and Keith shifts from one foot to another.

“Who said anything about love?” He asks, barely audible, but for all her age and lunacy, Isabelle answers.

“I do believe you did, just now!” She beams at him, as if proud, and continues, “now go on, _mijo_. You still have a few hours before the day. Get some rest so you may enjoy tonight’s festivities.”

She doesn’t shoo him away, but her dismissal is final.

Keith replays their conversation over and over as he climbs up the stairs, changes into pajamas, and crawls into his cot. It’s a curious thing, the word of the wise. It’s a concept he doesn’t think he can forget.

In all his restlessness, Keith does not notice that the cot at the far end of the loft is empty.

* * *

Keith wakes to huge, owlish eyes staring down at him.

With a groan, Keith sits up carefully so as not to bump heads with young Randy, and finds Stella at the foot of his bed.

“ _Uncle Shiro said it’s high-time you woke up,_ ” Randy tells him, as Stella translates, looking bored. “ _Mr. Matt and Ms. Pidge want to see you too._ ”

“Oh, good.” Keith mutters, but after realizing that his tone may be a bit harsh, he smiles at Stella and Randy, setting a gentle hand on Randy’s shoulder. “ _Thank you,”_ he tells him, and then, addressing the pair of them, “I’ll be right down, just let me get ready.”

The pair run off, Randy having to scramble after his cousin, and Keith hangs his head, savoring his cot for a few minutes more.

He knows the general idea of Dia De Los Muertos: a celebration to honor the dead. He knows the symbolism of having your loved ones with you, but…

He reaches under his cot and fumbles with his duffle bag. In a hidden pocket that he had sewn – can’t risk losing this to the TSA, after all – he pulls out a brown paper bag. The contents of the bag are his most valuable possessions, which he adamantly never leaves the house without.

The first is the casing of a pocketknife. The blades have long gone been detached, and the dark purple paint is peeling and crusty, but he carries this hunk of plastic with him everywhere because, well, it was his dad’s.

The second is a baseball card. He was never into sports as a child, but Shiro was a downright baseball _fanatic_ in his youth. This particular card of pitcher Vicente Padilla of the Arizona Diamondbacks was from the first game they snuck into and managed to stay without getting kicked out.

The third item is, of course, the only photograph of Krolia that Keith has. He had ripped it off the refrigerator before departing, not bearing the thought of leaving without it. And the fourth—

—a blue tie. From the Star Seeker’s gala event years ago. He takes a deep breath, trying not to fall down the rabbit-hole of memories he’s come to reluctantly befriend these past couple of days. He allows himself one moment to remember Lance at the gala – sipping pink champagne and dressed impeccably in a grey suit with that blue tie. Lance had left the tie at Keith’s apartment after they…

“UNCLE KEITH!”

Keith blinks and crumples the bag hastily, fitting it back into the hidden pouch and sliding it back under his cot. He leans against the railing of the loft, looking down to find Shiro and Randy looking up at him from the first landing of the stairs.

“Get down here!” Shiro calls, grinning wide, and Randy makes a frantic flapping motion with his hand before hopping down the stairs.

“Y-yeah, be right down,” Keith calls back, and ignoring Shiro’s prying stare, Keith grabs his clothes and heads to the bathroom.

15 minutes later, Keith finds himself getting tackled in the kitchen by Matt Holt, who is much beefier than Keith remembers. Keith gasps for breath as Matt pulls him back up, his grin as wide and toothy as Shiro and Pidge’s.

“The last time I saw you, you had a mullet!” Matt announces, and Keith doesn’t miss the snicker Rae and Luis share. Huffing, Keith rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, ready to defend himself, when Pidge flicks at the hair at his nape and adds, “I mean, he still does!”

Everyone laughs, but it’s not malicious, and though Keith feels the familiar threads of irritation, he does have to admit that he hasn’t had a proper haircut in quite some time.

“ _Dejar de burlarse de_ Keith,” Rosita chides, shoving a plate of what looks like eggs and rice into Pidge’s hands. “Bring that to the table, _por favor_ ,” she says, and hands a plate of kitchen scraps to Matt. “And you can put that in Slav’s dish.”

Matt grumbles, “Charming as ever, Mrs. E,” but he takes the dish without much more protest and slips out the back door, hollering for the beagle. Keith glances around. Everyone but Lance and Lucinda are at the table, already starting to fill their plates with brunch, and Pidge sets to join them.

“Can I help with anything?” Keith asks Rosita, and she smiles at him, though it looks strained.

“Not in here, _mijo_ ,” she says, and gently pats him with her spatula. “ _Ir a comer!_ Go eat with the others. _Sigue!_ ”

Keith nods and goes to take his seat next to Pidge when a loud, muffled grunt comes from the front door.

“I, uh— a little help?”

Keith glances at the table before rushing toward the living room to the front door, where the screen door is propped open and Hunk is struggling with a three large – presumably heavy – wooden crates.

Keith grabs the one on top, gasping as it nearly drags him down. “Jesus, Hunk,” he pants, “what the hell do you have in here?”

Hunk’s sheepish grin is barely visible through the slots of the box, and the two make their way toward the kitchen as he says, “let’s just say there’s enough food here to feed the neighborhood.”

“And feed the neighborhood we will,” Marco adds, taking to carry the second crate in Hunk’s arms. “These are all for the potluck, Keith.”

“Potluck?” Keith frowns as they cross the threshold of the kitchen. “What potluck?”

“The _Di De Los Muertos_ potluck!” Anita chimes in, bright and bubbly as ever. “It’s hosted every year right here in our neighborhood. Rosita’s _lechon asado_ is always a big hit!”

“Not to mention we got Hunk this year too,” Matt adds, closing the sliding door behind him and looking more than a little disheveled. “I’ve been _dying_ for some glazed ham.”

“Ah, sorry to break it to you, man,” Hunk says, scratching the back of his neck, “I forgot to buy the ham.”

Matt’s face falls, looking absolutely crushed, and Rosita smacks Hunk on the shoulder as he yelps, her lips pursed.

“I’m just kidding!” Hunk exclaims, throwing one hand in the air for surrender and rubbing his shoulder with the other. "I'm kidding Rosita, I swear." Satisfied with her piercing glare as Hunk's repercussion, Matt turns his attention to Keith, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“So, how’ve you been, Kiara?”

Keith groans as Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk laugh, leaving everyone else staring in amusement. “Kiara?” Rae snickers, mopping up egg yolk on her plate with a Hawaiian roll. "What's that about?"

Pidge clicks her tongue fondly as Keith puts a hand on his face. “It was his nickname in college,” she explains to the table. “We were all in Coran’s philosophy, and he was known for… _unorthodox_ teaching methods sometimes. Well, this one time, during a gender-debate study, Keith wasn’t paying attention to Coran—“

“—because he was too busy paying attention to someone else,” Hunk adds, winking, and that’s the precise moment Lance decides to step into the kitchen. Keith throws Hunk a venomous look to verbalize, _whose fucking side are you on?_

If Pidge had devil horns, they would’ve grown, and she grins as Lance, extending a hand that he takes, as she continues, “yes, well, Coran decided to call on Keith, and to make a point, he said, ‘Kiara, what’s your opinion?’ And Keith was paying so little attention that he _answered!_ ”

The table chuckles with amusement, and even Lance cracks a hesitant grin. Keith is struck dumb as he observes: Lance looks so _gaunt_. Keith doesn’t have to imagine the shape of Lance’s skull; he can _see_ it.

“In my defense,” he says loudly, still staring at Lance, “Coran had stood right in front of me.”

“So you assumed he was talking to you?” Shiro asks, eyebrows raised, amusement clear on his face. Keith glares at him, opening his mouth to argue, when a soft cough makes everyone still and turn toward the corner.

Isabelle sits in Rosita’s chair, pleasantly peaceful. Keith hadn’t even noticed her there. “ _Oh, déjalo en paz,_ ” she says, and though Keith can’t understand her, everyone else’s reactions tell him well enough what she meant.

He’s about to thank her when she adds, “ _El está loco porque sabe que no se ve bien en un vestido._ ”

The room seems to stop. Even Rosita pauses her cooking to gape at Isabelle. Veronica and Lance glance at each other, shocked.

And then, out of nowhere, Anita and Luis burst into laughter. Everyone else quickly joins, leaving Keith, Matt, Pidge, and Hunk looking lost. But Isabelle seems extremely pleased with herself, especially when Rae howls, practically pounding the table with her fist.

“Uh, I don’t get it,” Hunk laments, and Shiro stands, placing his prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder, wracking with laughter. “Whatever it is,” Keith grumbles, “it was definitely at my expense.”

But even he can’t stop the small smile.

* * *

The potluck will be hot and humid, and despite Keith’s hatred of shorts, he concedes as Luis tosses a brown pair at him to borrow. “I can dress myself just fine, thanks,” he insists, but Luis isn’t having it.

“Think of it as practice for the big day! In fact, let’s give you a haircut too so we don’t have to do it later,” Luis says brightly, and it isn’t until he disappears into bathroom to grab some clippers that Anita explains.

“Luis… copes by helping others,” she says. “If it’s too much, I can tell him?”

She looks expectant, but Keith understands. He shakes his head, resolved. “No, it’s okay,” he tells Anita with a shrug. “I mean, I need a new haircut anyway.”

Anita looks relieved, and she throws her arms around Keith in a crushing hug. Keith blinks, swallowing hard. Her hair smells like strawberries, and it’s almost a punch to the gut.

As she breaks away, Anita’s eyes are filled with tears, and she kisses Keith on the cheek before she heads into Luis and Lance’s old bedroom just as Luis emerges from the bathroom, clippers in hand.

Keith sits obediently, his protests down to a minimum, even as Luis yells for Shiro’s consult and Matt tags along, suggesting they shave Keith’s head entirely.

He can’t stop thinking about the way Anita had hugged him, and he tries to distract himself in order to not break down in front of his brother, brother-in-law-to-be, and childhood friend.

His mother’s hair had once smelled the same.

* * *

Later, during the chaos that is the actual neighborhood potluck, Keith realizes Veronica is nowhere to be seen.

Shiro and Matt are conversing with the elderly couple two houses down. Luis is introducing Anita – and reintroducing Randy, since he wouldn’t leave her arms – to the father of the family a street over, and Rae is sitting with Isabelle and a couple of paper fans++ in the shade.

Marco and Lucinda are mulling around, obviously familiar with everyone there. Hunk and Rosita are at the table, helping a few other neighbors set up the food, while Lance and the kids are running around with the other neighborhood kids.

Veronica is… nowhere. Frowning, Keith approaches Pidge, who is standing alone, picking dog hair out of her ham slice, scowling.

“Hey,” Keith says, and Pidge glances at him, looking up and down. “Who dressed you, Abercrombie and Fitch?”

“Not now,” Keith takes another look around the potluck to make sure he’s not imagining things before he asks her, “have you seen Veronica?”

Raising a brow, Pidge shakes her head slowly. As Keith continues to mutter anxiously to himself, she says, “maaaybe she’s in the bathroom?”

“I haven’t seen her for a while, though.”

“Well, maaaybe she’s taking a shit?”

Keith glares at her, and Pidge scrunches her shoulders, her expression indignant. “I’m just saying! Girls shit too, you know.”

Keith rolls his eyes and jerks his head to the house. “Let’s go,” he says, “you’re right; she may be inside, but I wanna make sure she’s okay.”

“Okay, then you go,” Pidge tells him, shaking her ham slice. Keith frowns, staring. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, cleaning my ham, duh,” Pidge shakes it again, insistent. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re playing with your food.”

Pidge clucks, indignant, and shakes her head. “Stupid Slav knocked me over and rolled around. I pulled this off his back.”

Keith gapes at her, disgusted. “And you still wanna _eat_ it?”

“Well…”

“Oh, my God, come _on.”_

Pidge grumbles, but follows him inside the house, flinging the ham into the trash before she crosses the door.

Veronica _is_ inside, and after a few minutes of searching, Keith discovers that despite Pidge’s protests, she isn’t in any of the bathrooms. Instead, she’s in her childhood bedroom, and is neither surprised or startled when Keith and Pidge find her.

The room is scattered with clothes, toys, and shoes, and Veronica is sitting in the very middle of the room, a photo album open on the floor in front of her.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” she tells them as they enter hesitantly. “Rae and the girls are all staying in here, and to my knowledge, Stella is the only one who picks up after any of them.”

She looks fondly around the room as Keith and Pidge sit across her.

“You left the potluck,” Pidge says, and Veronica nods. “Just for a moment. It was… getting too much.” It’s just then that Keith notices the Kleenex box beside her, used tissues crumpled into a small heap to her right.

A few moments pass before Veronica speaks again, and she points to one of the pictures in the photograph.

“Papa hated it when we didn’t participate in social gatherings,” she says sadly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be proud of me now, but I just…”

She looks up at Keith, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s been five years, Keith.” She says, almost desperate. “Why does it feel like we just lost him yesterday? I should’ve moved on by now.”

Keith takes a deep breath. He glances at Pidge, who shakes her head sadly and rests her head on his shoulder, hiding her own tears.

“I don’t think it works that way, Veronica,” he admits. He stares hard at his hands. “When you lose someone you love, I don’t think you ever really get over it.”

Veronica studies him and Pidge for a moment before saying quietly, “You’ve both lost someone too.” It’s not a question, and slowly, Pidge sits back up, her head hanging.

“Matt and I lost our dad a few years ago.”

Veronica reaches out and gently takes Pidge’s hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “It does get easier,” Pidge laments, “but it still hurts. Every time I hear the name ‘Sam,’ I want to throw up.”

“I’m the same,” Veronica agrees, and she turns to Keith, almost curious.

“My- well, Shiro’s and my father. When I was ten. Then Yuri before I went to college. And three years ago…” he blinks, glancing at Pidge, who is staring at him. He realizes with a jolt that no one actually knows about his mother, not even Shiro.

Taking a deep breath, he shrugs, his voice softer than he’s ever heard it. “Three years ago, I lost my mother. She had an aneurysm. I’d just met her a couple months beforehand, so it was, um, well, _shocking_ to lose her that soon.”

Veronica turns her gaze downward, seeming to be at a loss for words, and Pidge gapes at him. “That’s why you left for New York,” she realizes, and Keith nods, ashamed.

“I didn’t tell anyone because… well, I’m not actually sure why. I haven’t even told Shiro about it.”

Veronica takes his hand, looking more understanding than Keith expected. After a moment of hesitation, Pidge takes his other hand, and Keith allows himself this, a small moment of peace, where he is free to grieve.

* * *

Keith steps outside later that night, a cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his hand.

The potluck was a success, and Rosita’s _lechon asado_ and Hunk’s Hawaiian pineapple-glazed ham _were_ indeed the greatest hits. It had taken the combined effort of the entire neighborhood to clean up, and they had just finished washing dishes when Rosita had shooed everyone away, insisting on finishing the last batch of pots herself.

And so it is here that Keith finds himself standing next to Shiro, who is looking reminiscently at the stars.

“What’s up?” Keith asks, flicking his cigarette to life and stowing the lighter in his jeans. Shiro smiles at him tiredly, his wrinkles in his eyes showing more prominently than ever.

“I’m just thinking.” He looks bittersweet, like he had remembered a happy memory that haunts him. “Y’know, Adam would be turning 30 next week if it weren’t for…”

He trails off, and Keith doesn’t have to hear the rest to understand. “I didn’t realize it had been that long,” Keith says, and Shiro shrugs.

“Seven years never seems that long, you know? But it’s officially been longer since I lost him than when I had him.”

Keith does that math in his head. Adam was Shiro’s first serious relationship; they had dated for six years before Shiro got up the courage to propose. A few months before their wedding, however, their apartment building caught on fire, and while Shiro managed to scrape through – one arm too burnt to keep, but otherwise okay – Adam never made it out.

Keith remembers that it had taken a _long_ time Shiro to stop blaming himself for Adam’s death, and an even _longer_ time for Shiro to stop hating himself for not doing more to prevent it.

When Keith first met Veronica, he was skeptical about Shiro’s mental stability, but after realizing how much stronger Shiro had become, Keith’s worries subsided. After all, Keith had – and still has - to deal with his own shit regarding Lance, so who is he to judge?

Yet in moments like these, Keith doesn’t mistake the way Shiro gazes into the night, clutching the railing with so much force his knuckles squeak. The tenseness in Shiro’s shoulders, the rigidness of his spine, is enough to make Keith extinguish his cigarette, toss the butt in the trash, and set a hand on Shiro’s hunched shoulder.

It’s like they’re kids again, watching the desert sunset. Keith is loathe to move, but Shiro turns to him, the smallest, sheepish grin on his face. “You should be giving your attention to someone else, you know,” he says, and Keith rolls his eyes. Stuffing his other hand in the pocket of Luis’s brown shorts, Keith sighs, tipping his head back to pinpoint the constellations. “In due time.”

He'll deal with that shit in a moment. For now, he waits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so... im gonna rant abt Shiro's sexuality right quick.
> 
> MY personal HC is that Shiro is pan. i liked it when it was first suggested to me and i stuck w it. when the voltron team dropped the "Shiro-is-gay!!!" bomb, i was excited - like everyone else - to see some canonical gay cartoon characterization! 
> 
> BUT THEN. season 8 happened. and in my tiny, shriveled writer's brain, the bullshit information i was force-fed through fun animations and frustrating dialogue did not survive. like, at all. so it's my personal hc (and frankly, to me, pretty canon anyway) that shiro is PAN. 
> 
> additionally i realize that i did not do adam justice. im so sorry. for keith's characterization, i had to sacrifice shiro's relationship w adam in order to pair him w veronica and explore lance's family dynamic and i feel bad abt that. let's just all collectively pretend that in the real voltronverse, shiro comes home to adam and they live happily ever after, the end. 
> 
> so again i apologize for killing off adam yet again, but this is a fanfic abt klance and not shadam or whatever tf theyre called. shiro and adam. shiro's gay foil. whatever.
> 
> that being said, a-see you a-tomorrow... peace!


	7. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets the breaking point... and breaks his heart all over again in the process. 
> 
> TW: mentions of Deaths of a Loved One  
> TW: mentions of Homophobia  
> TW: mentions of Child Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u feel not good at any point in this chapter PLS STOP READING. im serious. i value yalls mental health and though i appreciate my works and pieces being read, id much rather u NOT trigger yourself.
> 
> be careful kids. here we go

**[Mourn with the Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxQLNxFA1Mg) **

_(November 2, 1 Day before the Wedding)_

It is well past midnight by the time Keith and Shiro return inside, and by then, most of the family have already gone to bed.

Keith is about to follow Shiro up the steps when he notices Slav slip out the back door, the night breeze blowing the curtains back just a bit. Keith assures Shiro he’ll follow up in a moment, and ignoring Shiro’s frown, Keith goes to investigate.

As he steps back outside, he isn’t surprised to see Lance splayed out in the grass, his eyes closed against the still-burning string lights around the yard. With a heaving sigh, Keith approaches Lance slowly. Lance doesn’t even stir as the ground by his head shifts, and Keith blinks down at him before lying down, his feet facing the opposite direction from Lance’s, his head touching the littlest bit of Lance’s hair.

Keith clears his throat, glancing sideways at Lance before closing his eyes. There’s a chill in the air, an unusual bout of wind buffeting through the neighborhood. Despite this, Keith feels hot in his chest and ears, and he can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, staring at the night sky, but Keith is on the brink of sleep when he feels the light touch of warm fingers on his cheek. His eyes snap open.

Lance is just… staring at him. And Keith finds himself staring back. And for a moment, they’re 20 again, on the rooftop of Arizona University, about to have their first kiss.

But Keith doesn’t lean in, and nor does Lance. Instead, they’re suspended, time stopped until who-knows-when, waiting for the first move.

Finally, Lance breaks the silence. “I really wish you got to meet her, Keith.”

Keith blinks. At first, he assumes Lance is talking about Keith’s mother, but that doesn’t make sense, because Keith had barely talked about Krolia while they were dating – mostly because he barely knew about her existence. But then Keith wonders that maybe Lance is talking about _his wife_ , and Keith doesn’t know what to say.

“…Who?” He asks, settling on that. Lance stares at him, hard, his expression unreadable in the shadows of the night. He’s stroking Keith’s cheek gently, almost absentmindedly. Keith takes his hand.

“My daughter…” Lance tells him and Keith is fixated on the tear that rolls out from the corner of his eye. “She would’ve loved you, Keith.” Keith swallows hard.

He hasn’t found out much about Lance’s daughter since he arrived. No one seemed keen to mention the tragedy, whether it was in respect for Lance or in fear of him, but Keith’s heart breaks all over again as Lance tears his gaze away, blinking up at the stars again with a little sniff.

Keith squeezes his hand. He’s not sure what else to say, or if anything else will suffice. Despite everything: despite their differences, their fights, their issues and lack of communication, Keith is faced with a realization he had been trying to run from for years.

The realization that he is still in love with Lance – and that he always has been.

Krolia had been surprised when Keith automatically took to living in Manhattan after one meeting, wondering if he would miss what he was about to leave behind. Shiro had been shocked, expressing fear that Keith was merely running away, and Lance…

Well, by that point, Lance had met Nyma, and had forgotten all about Keith.

Keith finds himself pulling away slighty, and maybe Lance could feel it too, because the pair sit up simultaneously, their backs to each other.

“I would’ve loved her too,” Keith admits softly, and Lance doesn’t say anything for a long while. Finally, he points at the sky, at a pattern of pinpricks. “Leo’s out tonight,” he whispers, his voice shaky, and Keith takes his hand, lacing them tightly together. The pair don’t say anything more.

They sit there, back-to-back, hands intertwined. The stars wink down at them from above, the roaring lion claiming its stake in the darkness.

* * *

Later, well past noon, after a hugely successful wedding rehearsal, everyone had gathered back out to the Espinosa family’s backyard to finish up on the reception space. Hunk and Pidge had worked quick to set up the rest of the lights; Keith had helped Shiro, Lance, and Luis with the tables; Veronica, Anita, and Stella had put the finishing touches on the decorations.

Although Matt had wanted to stay for dinner, he, Pidge, and Hunk had to go to the airport to pick up Collen Holt and Shay Balmera - Matt and Pidge’s mother and Hunk’s girlfriend respectively – for the latter were going to spend the night in town before attending the wedding tomorrow.

Which leaves Keith as the only non-Espinosa member for dinner again. He reckons this would’ve bothered him a few days ago, but he finds himself caught up in the routine.

In fact, when the ten adults squeeze together in their seats at the dining room table, Keith takes his regular place on the other side of Veronica, and no one bats an eye.

The kids have gathered at the living room, where a cartoon takes up their attention as they eat, and baby Joey had been put to bed an hour prior, giving the adults some time to themselves – with Marco, Lucinda, Luis, and Anita particularly relieved.

To Keith’s surprise – and perhaps Rae’s also, since her raising eyebrows are visible as she takes a noisy gulp from her glass – Lance sits directly across from him, the bags under his eyes prominent from Keith’s angle.

Rosita had made _ropa vieja_ , or shredded slow-cooked meat over rice, and Keith is positive he’s never had anything this delicious in his entire life. He is in the middle of his second course – Rosita had smiled warmly at him when he had asked for the serving plate again – when Luis asks Lance a question that throws Keith off-guard.

“So, killer,” Luis elbows Lance none-too-gently, jostling his sip and earning a glare, “you gettin’ back out there?”

The conversations die down, the only other sounds heard are the clinking of silverware on ceramic.

“By ‘gettin’ back out there,’ I assume you’re referring to my dating life?” Lance doesn’t sound offended, but the question does sound forced, as if Lance would rather be anywhere but here. Keith too, actually, and his chews turn cautious.

When Luis merely grins instead of answering, Lance shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “No, Luis,” he says, sounding tired. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Yeah?” This time, Marco has chimed in, his tone more annoyingly parental than anything. “Not even a little interested in testing the waters?”

Lance pauses, and Keith finds himself involuntarily clenching the tablecloth. He catches Veronica’s glance at his knuckles before flattening his palm on the table.

“If you must know,” Lance sounds mischievous now, eyes quickly flitting to Keith and away as _if Keith wouldn’t notice._ “There is someone who’s been on my mind lately.”

Keith clenches his teeth. If the fork in his hand had been plastic, it would’ve snapped.

Yet Luis continues, oblivious. “Oh? Who?” Lance opens and closes his mouth, obviously thinking. Everyone seems to be holding their breath.

“Kay.” Lance says. Keith could hit him. “Her name is Kay. She was… an old college friend of mine I recently connected with.”

Keith could hit him. Keith _wants_ to hit him. Keith has never wanted to hit anyone more in his entire life, but before Keith could even think about lunging across the table, Veronica pipes up.

“She?” She asks, almost innocently, and Keith _feels_ the whole table freeze. Rae’s eyes practically bug out of her head as she looks down, struggling to keep her expression neutral. Shiro swallows audibly, avoiding eye contact.

And Lance looks _appalled._ But his surprise falls quickly, irritation and hurt lacing his face.

“Yes, _she._ ” His words are clipped. “I’m not _gay_ , Veronica.”

Veronica shrugs, as if indifferent, but Keith can feel the stiffness of her figure from where he sits. “It’s not anything to be ashamed of,” she says, "It's okay if you are." Lance shakes his head wildly, as if about to argue. In fact, the whole table looks about ready to jump onto the argument, and even Rosita and Isabelle look on edge.

Keith has had enough. “Well,” he says loudly, interrupting the tension, “ _I_ am.”

Rae practically chokes on her water and coughs as quietly as she can, knocking her chest a couple times. Shiro raises a brow.

“Yeah.” Keith’s confidence grows. “And you’re right, Veronica. It’s _nothing_ to be ashamed of. I mean, so what? I like men. I’ve dated men. It doesn’t magically make me a bad person, nor does it magically make me a good person. I’m the same person you guys have met and… spent time with, these past couple days. You just have more information now.”

He finishes his small speech lamely, and meets Lance’s shocked, betrayed stare with his own.

After a moment, Rosita murmurs something unintelligible, and Anita speaks. “Of course, Keith,” she says, her voice gentle. “I don’t see you any different. I’ve come to enjoy your company. So have the kids. That's something to account for.”

Keith smiles at her, conveying gratitude, and one-by-one, the rest of the Espinosa’s nod their agreement.

“We meant no offense, Keith,” Luis says hastily, putting his hands out as if surrendering the conversation. “We appreciate your honesty. It’s a little unorthodox, but you’re right. It doesn’t – and shouldn’t – change the way we see you.”

Keith shrugs. “None taken,” he assures Luis, “Just something about me you’d ought to know.”

Keith glances at Lance once more before he reaches for a third serving, and despite Lance’s cool demeanor as the subject is dropped and everyone else resumes different topics for discussion, Keith knows better.

He doesn’t look at Lance again for the remainder of dinner.

* * *

He had just stepped outside for a smoke when Lance corners him.

Keith can’t say he hadn’t been expecting this; he had been _hoping_ that their differences may be resolved without having to confront them, and that he could go back to his old life while Lance goes back to his, and that would be that.

A pipe dream, Keith realizes, as Lance storms angrily outside, his feet kicking the gravel as he goes.

"What the hell, Keith?” He’s wearing the same white shirt he wore during the rehearsals, the same grey pants and sneakers. He looks as beautiful as ever in the setting sun, and Keith probably would’ve been breathless if this situation had happened years ago.

But he’s grown now, and Lance’s anger doesn’t scare him anymore.

“What the hell, _what,_ Lance?” Keith says, despite knowing very much what this is about.

“Why the _fuck_ did you choose today of all days to embarrass me in front of my family?”

Keith’s eyebrow shoots up at that.

“ _I_ embarrassed you?” He scoffs, flicking at his cigarette. “Try checking your tone, pal. You embarrassed yourself.”

Lance crosses his arms, his eyes much darker than Keith remembers.

“I wasn’t about to come out to my entire fucking family, Keith,” he snaps, his body taut like a wire. Keith merely shrugs, exhaling a long breath of smoke.

“It’s not like they don’t already know. You try to keep a _lot_ of secrets, Lance, but you’re not particularly good at it.”

Lance scowls, stepping away from the smoke. “What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

Keith’s heart is racing, anger rising to the surface. He crushes the cigarette and matches Lance’s stance, arms folded, glare hardened. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Lance rolls his eyes, spiking Keith’s anger up a notch, but he stays still. “We’re gonna do this now?” Lance scoffs, and Keith shrugs, his fingers curling into fists. “Had to happen sometime, pretty boy.”

Once the nickname had been endearing. Keith uses it as a weapon, now, and it _works._ Lance’s face falls. “Well?" Lance spits out, "what’s your problem? Get it off your goddamn chest already.”

Keith’s nostrils flare, his breath coming in short, hot bursts. In an almost growl he doesn’t recognize, he says, “Let’s start with the elephant in the room, shall we? You _inviting_ me to your wedding?”

Lance gapes at him, surprised. “Huh?”

Keith struggles to keep his voice from a shout. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘huh?’ You fucking _left_ me in the middle of the night, only for me to run into you again a few _months_ later and you were _fucking engaged_ , Lance! Engaged! How the fuck was any of that a go-ahead for you to send me a fucking invitation?”

Lance shakes his head, looking as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. “Y-you got an invitation… to _my_ wedding?”

Keith gives an exclamation of exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. He’s not sure if he can say anything else to convey his surprise, and he doesn’t have to, because Lance suddenly says, “that’s why you never responded to my letter.”

Keith glares at him, feigning congratulatory surprise. “Golly gee, Lance, you think? What the hell was I supposed to say to that? ‘Dear Lance, thank you for inviting me to your fucking wedding! I’m sorry I didn’t RSVP, but I realized that you’re such an insensitively selfish prick that you don’t know how to leave things fucking alone. But anyway, I’d _love_ to chat about our relationship! Just tell me when and where! Oh, and by the way, thanks so much for sending it to _my coworker_ so he can mail it to me since I never told you my new address! Love always, Keith!’”

“That’s not fair!” Lance protests, and the wind picks up suddenly, buffeting his hair to mirror his distress.

“Well, do enlighten me, please, as to how anything you did to _me_ isn’t fair to _you,_ ” Keith snarls.

Shaking his head frantically, Lance rubs his face. “ _I_ never sent you that invitation.”

Keith pauses, uncomprehending. “Then who—“

“—It was Nyma. She suggested I invite you and when I told her I wouldn’t…” Lance trails off, his expression more confused that Keith had ever seen it. “You think I don’t know how that looked? You think I’m that insensitive that I would invite my ex to my wedding to someone else when we haven’t even been broken up a whole year? You knew me for _years_ , Keith! You thought I was capable of that much fucking cruelty?”

“You were capable of leaving without telling me why,” Keith snaps, “so don’t fucking act like you’re on the high-horse, here, Lance. You _chose_ to leave, you _chose_ to sever ties with me, and you still expect me to not react, well, however way I have to react?”

“I never chose to leave!” Lance shouts. “ _You_ made that choice when you made it clear you didn’t want me anymore!”

Keith gapes at him, struck. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, you think I don’t know? You think I had no idea about Lotor, about your late hours at the shop? You think I didn’t know that you were planning to move to New York? To take up a new job and leave me behind?”

“Lotor was my _friend_ Lance!” Keith thunders, his anger snapping in half, filling his entire body with electric displeasure. “We were coworkers at a shitty garage!I’ve told you that before! Absolutely nothing happened between us, and I never _wanted_ anything to happen between him or me. I spent late hours at the shop because you wouldn’t stop arguing with me over petty shit! Because you kept hogging at my life like you needed to be a part of everything! And for your fucking information, I was planning a _trip_ to New York to meet my mother, and had we still been together, I _would’ve taken you with me._ ”

His voice shakes at the end of his outburst, and he looks away hastily. “You think you’re the only one who knows grief, Lance? The only one entitled to your misery?”

Lance doesn’t answer, and when Keith glances back up at him, he’s finds Lance crying. Involuntarily, Keith almost reaches out, but Lance turns away before he can, swallowing hard and wiping at his tears.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and quiets. Keith can’t even reply an affirmation. The silence stretches between the pair of them, and Keith is convinced that the best course of action would be to go back inside.

He turns and takes a step toward the door when Lance says, soft, “Nyma and I weren’t in love, you know.”

Keith freezes. What?

“This is what I wanted to tell you in my letter,” Lance says. “We got married because… it was the best solution.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The irritation in Keith’s tone can’t be ignored.

Lance hesitates, and Keith is about to turn around and face him when Lance finally speaks. “Okay... okay. Look, when I was 11 years old, my Papa caught me kissing Rolo from down the street.” Lance takes a shuddering breath, and Keith feels his fists unclenching the tiniest bit.

“H-he slapped me, took me home, beat me some more. He said if he ever caught me with another boy, he’d kill me. The thought stuck, I guess, even now. But he was a good man!” Lance protests, as if seeming to know what Keith is thinking. “He was a good man and a good father. He just wanted the best for all of us, and me gallivanting around with other boys wouldn’t have been good for our family image.”

Keith screws his eyes shut, a different anger seeping over him. _Fuck._

“That’s… why I never told my family about you. I wasn’t ashamed of you, not at all. But I knew Papa would be, and I didn’t want to put anyone through that. But I fell in love with you and I couldn’t stop seeing you so… I kept it a secret. Buried it down. I thought it’d be easier, and you never seemed to want to settle down, so I thought I’d be okay.

Then he died.” Keith doesn’t have to look to know that Lance is crying. “Papa died in the hospital on _Dia De Los Muertos_ five years ago, with _everyone_ around him. With Marco, Luis, Rae, Veronica, ma, the kids, _abuela_ … everyone was there. Everyone but _me._ I... I got caught up in TSA; they had to do a random search and I happened to be there. And I was too late, Keith. I wasn’t by his side when he died, I was on a _fucking plane_.”

Keith feels a hot tear slip down his cheek. He didn’t know.

“So when I came back to you, I wanted to know if _we_ were permanent. If you’d grow sick of me, leave me like he did.”

“You know I would never,” Keith begins shakily, but Lance cuts him off.

“But I didn’t know. You wanted what we had, and I thought you didn’t want more. After our lease ended, I left and I was going to go home, to go _here_ , when I met Nyma.”

He sniffles, regret coating his voice. “She was in the same position as me, Keith. She didn’t like guys; she had wanted to marry a woman, but her mother said no. She was going to be cut off, you see. So we started dating, and Mama approved of her so much, and her ma approved of me. Then on her birthday, we both got really drunk. We started making out – I’m not really sure why, maybe for the hell of it – and one thing led to another and…” Keith wonders if things would’ve changed, had he known any of this.

“We got married. It was fast, but we didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant, and eight months later she ended up giving birth to the most _beautiful_ baby girl.”

Keith does turn around then, and Lance is hunched over, wracking with sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, cheeks soaked and hair wild. “I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I thought it was better to leave than to wait to hear you say that. And-and I wanted to try to make Papa proud, you know? Make him proud by doing our family right. By the time I started second-guessing myself, it was too late.”

Keith kneels down next to Lance. Their foreheads touch, a small gesture.

“Then the accident happened?” Keith guesses, and Lance squeezes his eyelids shut, shaking his head. “A few months after she was born. We were driving to here, t-to Little Havana. Nyma was driving. I would’ve been but I had been so _tired_ … We were hit by a semi.”

“Oh, Lance,” Keith touches the nape of his neck, pulling him as close as he can dare.

“Nyma was pronounced dead at the scene, and our _nina…_ ”

Keith’s anger is still there, flickering, but the pain in his chest feels too much like heartbreak for his rage to linger.

Neither of them say anything for a long while. They just sit there, on the gravel driveway of Lance’s childhood home, both half-holding each other and crying until they no longer can. Keith feels so _stupid_. His hurt is still there, but it’s mixed with understanding. His grief is still there, but mixed with acceptance. It’s the closest to forgiveness that Keith can muster.

When the sobs have subsided, Keith opens his eyes. Lance’s feelings are all stitched on his face, and Keith can read them, one by one, with each blink of an eye. Guilt. Fear. Loneliness. Heartache. Pain.

“Her name?” Keith asks, wanting more than anything to try to take away the pain. “Was it Nina?”

Lance blinks at him, comprehension dawning, and suddenly, he looks very, very bashful.

“No,” he begins, avoiding Keith’s gaze. “ _Nina_ is a slang; it’s the Spanish word for little girl. No, Keith,” he squeezes Keith’s hands, as if afraid of how he’d react, “we named her Kiara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look i made a Sad. 
> 
> also, it should be noted that i absolutely 100% DID NOT cry writing this chapter. reading and re-reading to edit, however... that's a different story.
> 
> we're reaching the homestretch guys. if you've stuck around so far, i love and appreciate u. if u just got here, wtf are u doing on chapter 6??? go back and re-read the whole thing, ya cheater! (im jkjkjk. i love you too thank u for ur support)
> 
> anyway, tomorrow awaits!


	8. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the wedding day, and Keith has a decision to make.
> 
> TW: implied Homophobia  
> TW: implied Child Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there u guys :')
> 
> dont really have much to say except: 1) wedding scenes are REALLY hard to write and 2) this is probably my most favorite thing ive ever written ever
> 
> enjoy

[We Can Just Dance to This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrMAfMbZOmg)

_(November 3: The Wedding Day)_

Lance doesn’t sleep in the loft that night.

Keith knows this because he can’t sleep himself, and though he _should_ be passed out because _holy fuck_ the Big Day is starting in less than 12 hours, he feels more energy and adrenaline than he had all week. Dreams are the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

The conversation with Lance... It pings around his memories, like a pinball stuck in a tilt-a-whirl. It’s not that he’s no longer angry, per se; the whole situation had manifested for so long that Keith doesn’t think he can just let go of all those feelings of mistrust and hurt, but he feels lighter somehow. He _knows_ better now. It’s like a weight had been lifted. So where the fuck does he go from here?

Before he can comprehend what he’s doing, Keith sits up. He pads across the loft, his socked feet inaudible on the carpet. Then he descends the stairs.

Somehow, he’s not surprised to find the light flickering in the kitchen. He has a feeling he already knows who the culprit is, and sure enough, he finds Rosita sitting at the dining table.

She’s not alone, though. That’s something Keith wasn’t expecting, and he stares in surprise at Stella, sitting right next to her grandmother. Keith leans against the doorjamb as they both look up, and he offers them a tired smile.

“And what are you still doing awake, young lady?” He asks, jokingly chiding, and though Rosita chuckles, Stella’s expression remains impassive.

“Probably the same as you,” she says, blunt, and Keith laughs lightly. He sits down across from them, and Rosita tilts her head. “Would you like some honeyed milk, _mi hijo_?” She asks, and Keith nods. “I’d love one, Rosita, thank you.”

Rosita stands from her seat, bending to kiss Stella on the head. As she passes by Keith, she sets a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he takes it, squeezing.

There is silence for the few minutes while Rosita fixes him a glass. Stella picks at her nails. Her glasses have been put away for the night, her dark eyes squinting at her surroundings. Keith is about to comment on the flecks of peeled nail polish just to break the awkwardness when she beats him to it.

“Are you in love with _Tio_ Lance?”

Keith blinks. His gaze flits to Rosita, who looks pointedly away, pretending not to have heard.

“I, uh,” Keith isn’t quite sure what to say. He could lie, but he figures Rosita would be able to see right through him, and then he might get Lance into trouble. Different scenarios file frantically through his head, each more devastating than the last, and the effort Keith had put into making this week run as smooth as possible may go down the drain if he’s caught in the act.

But then again, is the truth any better?

“Yes,” he says, wincing. “Yes, I am. But,” he glances at Rosita again, trying to gauge her expression as he covers his tracks, “but I don’t think he’s in love with me, so it’s really just a huge, extended crush.”

Stella stares at him as if she were made of stone. Keith realizes that even though he’s been worried about Rosita this whole time, Stella’s bullshit radar is _much_ stronger.

“I don’t believe you,” she confirms, and Rosita must notice that Keith’s anxiety is through _the fucking roof_ , because she places the mug of honeyed-milk in front of Keith and sets her hand on his shoulder again. Though Keith expects it to feel like a vice, it doesn’t, and all he can feel is warmth.

“I think he’s in love with you too.” Stella’s statement is matter-of-fact, uncalculated, as if there’s nothing she can benefit by lying. Keith doesn’t know what to say, and instead stares at her as she swipes the nail polish fragments off the table and onto her palm, hops off her chair, and bids the pair of them goodnight.

Her footsteps recede down the hall, and Keith is well aware that his cheeks are on fire and that Rosita is watching him, so he swallows down half his milk and tries not to scream.

Rosita takes the seat next to him, looking more tired than Keith had ever seen her. Her brown hair is frizzy and surrounded by flyaway strands, her eyes lined with almost bruised bags. Nonetheless, she smiles at him and takes his hand.

“ _Mis disculpas,_ Keith,” she says, soft, “Stella had been waiting for you all night. I warned her not to ask but…” She glances away, reminiscent. “Stella takes after her mother. She will do what she wants to do when she wants to do it.”

“There’s not stopping her,” Keith agrees, then, squeezing Rosita’s hand gently, he murmurs, “I’m sorry too.” Rosita turns back to him, surprised. “Whatever for, _mijo_?” And something in her surprise tells him that she knows much more than she lets on.

“Have you… are you aware…?” He trails off, unsure to word the question, but Rosita nods nonetheless.

“You are the ‘Kay’ he mentioned at dinner, are you?” She asks Keith, and without waiting for him to reply, she says, “Lance had spoken of you before, while you were dating, though that was how he said it. That was the happiest he had ever been, you know, and when things ended, his heart was not just broken; it was _shattered_. I was so surprised when he told me he and Noelle were together.” Keith blinks. So Lance _had_ talked about him, just not in the way he expected.

“Lance was so very upset tonight,” Rosita continues, “I wondered if it was the quarrel you had outside.” He blushes at that, ashamed that their anger had seeped inside the house.

“Shit, Rosita, I’m sorry. I thought we were far enough away—“

“—You were,” she assures him, patting his knuckles lightly. “We heard nothing. Unfortunately, the window to the attic was open, and two little _pollitos_ did.” Understanding dawns on Keith, and he groans, rubbing his temples with his free hand. “Are Randy and Stella okay?”

Rosita nods again, her stare gentle. “I believe Stella did not translate the entire conversation for her cousin. She is a bold child, but she knows when things are better left unsaid.” Keith agrees with her, having noticed it himself. Despite being only nine, Stella is a kid most adults could consult with and confide in.

A question prickles in the back of his mind. There’s a twinkle in Rosita’s eye that can’t be missed. “Did you always know? I mean, did you always know that Lance was… into guys?” He asks hesitantly, afraid of crossing the line, and to his surprise, Rosita breaks into a sheepish grin.

“I have known since he was a boy. He was not subtle in his attraction to other boys, particularly the one down the street. But he was also in love with the Alteas’ daughter as a child. I knew because he would stop talking whenever we passed their house. He was a very talkative child, very animated. More so than Luis, when he was young.

But the way Lance acted around boys… I thought it strange, myself. It is not a thing we grew up knowing, liking others of the same gender, but I was not disgusted by his preferences. Even when he grew up, and did not grow out of it, I just wanted him to be happy. Josef, on the other hand…”

Rosita chokes suddenly, tears springing seemingly out of nowhere, and Keith feels his own eyes watering. “His Papa was cruel. An honest man, protective, but cruel nonetheless. I have many regrets with my children, and one of my regrets with Lance is that I did not have the courage to protect him. He was my son, my _nino_ , and he needed help, and I simply watched and allowed Josef to-to…”

Stifling a sob, Rosita covers her mouth with her free hand. “The damage ran deep. I knew that then; I know it now. I see it in his eyes. And when you and he started dating? He was so afraid. He was so wary around his Papa, so cautious and afraid. But had I known who you really were, Keith, had I known you as I know you now, I would have stood up. I would have put my foot on the ground, would have told Josef, ‘this man _loves_ our _mijo_ with all his heart,’ and insisted you come sooner, so I could welcome a-another _son_.”

They’re both crying now, hot tears slipping down Keith’s own face and splattering the table.

For a long while, Rosita says nothing, and Keith is fine holding her hand, waiting for the storm to subside. When she wipes away the last of her tears, she smiles shakily at him, her red eyes crinkling.

“Well,” Keith says, attempting a laugh through his sniffles, “at least you’ll get another son in Shiro today.”

To his infinite bewilderment, Rosita’s lip trembles as she bursts into tears again, flinging herself at Keith. He pats her back awkwardly, but smiles all the same.

* * *

“You riding with us or with Hunk?” Matt calls up from the landing. Keith straightens his suit jacket, rolling the lint-roller across the sleeves. “I’ll, uh, ride with you,” Keith replies, and he stares at himself in the mirror.

He had struggled into the navy suit rental five minutes ago, but it feels like an hour since he first put it on. He had added his own cufflinks – a pair of tiny silver clocks that had once belonged to their father – and though the feeling of the silk against his skin is still foreign, he has to admit that dark blue on his figure doesn’t look as bad as he thought it would.

“Kiara, would you hurry the fuck up, please? I still have to get fuel and wrangle the kids in the jeep!” Matt shouts, his voice fading as he descends down the stairs. After giving himself a good once-over, Keith nods, satisfied, and goes to climb down.

His foot has barely hit the first step, however, when he stops. He can’t believe he had almost forgotten. Keith checks his watch and hurries over to his cot, pulling out his duffle bag.

Matt, fed up, sends Mateo and Miguel to fetch Keith, and the boys exhume so much chaos that their way out the door is loud, clumsy, and rushed, leaving Keith and Matt scrambling to make sure they don’t start the car on accident and drive it into the house.

Which is why, of course, they are halfway to the church when Keith remembers that he never closed his duffle and pushed it back under his cot. He hopes they make it back first after the ceremony so he could do just that upon their return. With two entities of pure energy in their party, it could be considered a tripping hazard, after all.

* * *

“Will you stop messing with it? I _just_ gelled it to look good.”

Keith rolls his eyes as he tries to not flatten his hair for the millionth time since they’ve arrived at the church. Pidge is glaring at him, her hands on her hips, looking out of place in her long, plum-colored rental dress. Her short hair has been styled down to look more feminine, and she is actually wearing _glitter_ on her face. Keith supposes that this was Veronica or Anita’s doing; he doubts Pidge would’ve voluntarily put anything other than black eyeliner on if she had a choice.

“Luis cut my cowlick,” he mutters at her, grimacing as his fingers hit another spot of clumped gel, “and you gelled my hair _terribly!_ I’ve got clumps all over!”

“Hng, that’s what she said,” snickers Hunk, who comes to join them in the lobby. The ceremony is yet to start for another hour, so while guests have slowly begun to trickle in, there’s not quite that much to do just yet.

Pidge smacks Hunk on the arm before clicking her tongue at his crooked tie. With a sigh of exasperation, she goes to straighten it out, all the while trying to hide her amusement. Keith approvingly looks Hunk up and down, admiring the matching plum color of his suit and the light purple paisley tie. “Not bad,” Keith whistles, “glad to see you in anything other than yellow.”

Hunk scrunches his shoulders bashfully, trying to avoid Pidge’s swats. “It was Shiro’s idea. They wanted us to stick out as the official photographers,” he and Pidge make a goofy little pose that they had obviously practiced beforehand, “but they didn’t want us to stray too far away from the wedding colors.”

“So you matched with the plum on the roses,” Keith nods, understanding, and before Hunk can reply, Pidge hisses at them, “Look sharp, Hunk!”

Hunk turns in surprise and grins brightly as a toweringly beautiful dark-skinned woman with a sweet face and large, hoop earrings approaches. Her smile is radiant as she kisses Hunk on the cheek. After leaving a light red lipstick print on his skin, she grins at Pidge, giving her a hug that Pidge has to stand on her toes to receive, and then she turns to Keith.

Hunk splays a hand out as he slips his other arm around her waist. “Shay, this is our old college buddy, Keith. The one I was telling you about? Keith, meet my amazing, gorgeous girlfriend, Shay.”

“Laying it on thick, are we?” Shay observes, but her tone is amused and flattered, and she takes both of Keith’s hands and kisses the air on either side of his cheeks.

Keith smiles and gives a small greeting before their party is joined by Rae, who is dressed in a navy suit and a pair of ratty Doc Martens. “Damn weddings,” she mutters, nodding her head at Shay, who nods back. “This is why they take a whole-ass day. Why can’t my sister just say her vows and leave it at that?”

“Hey, if that were the case, I’d be out on the streets selling crack for a living, y’know?” Pidge quips. Rae laughs, and the conversation veers toward Pidge and Hunk’s business and Shay’s new job, and Keith politely excuses himself to find his brother.

He heads down the short halls of the church, wondering where Shiro could be. Shiro had said he wouldn’t really have a room of his own, but Keith assumes it doesn’t mean he’s no longer _in a room_. He isn’t anywhere else in the whole goddamn church.

Keith arrives at the end of the west hallway, at a peeling purple door marked _Private_ , and is about to turn around when he hears a wail from inside the room.

Frowning, Keith freezes, wondering if he’s hearing things, but before he can mark it as his imagination, he definitely hears a loud cough, heavy footsteps, and the sound of tiny beads scattering on wood. Keith clears his throat, raising a fist to knock on the door—

—it flies open. Lance is there, his disheveled hair a complete contrast to his steamed blush pink suit. Keith stares, struck, at how fucking _good_ he looks right now – with the pink sitting nicely against his tanned skin - and the pair don’t move for a full ten seconds before Veronica’s teary voice cries, “Lance!”

Lance blinks, glancing backward, and then yanks on Keith’s lapel, veering him inside. “Wha—“

“Sh! Shiro’s right down the hall! He doesn’t need to hear any of this!” Lance hisses at him, letting go as Keith stumbles. Lance catches his arm, bracing his balance. “Sorry, sorry,” Lance groans, and before Keith can reply, he drops to his knees, scrambling along the floor doing God-knows-what.

Veronica is sitting at the vanity table, already dressed in her wedding dress, and Keith would’ve commented on how beautiful she looks if she weren’t in tears. He thinks that’s in the handbook for interacting with brides or something. NO talking about the bride’s appearance when she’s crying.

“What happened?” He asks, and Veronica hiccups, lifting a beaded half-blue wedding garter, in which a majority of the beads had fallen off, leaving white lace.

“Stupid thing started falling apart the second we touched it,” Lance mutters, straightening, showing Keith his palm. He had collected as many tiny beads as he could find. “That’s what we get for getting it cheap.”

Veronica sighs, wiping at her face, and screws her eyes in the mirror. “Ugh, Anita _me matará por arruinar su maquillaje_ ,” she moans, setting her head in her hands, and Keith blinks at her before looking at the garter once again.

“It’s her ‘Something Blue?’” He guesses softly, so only Lance can hear, “Is that why she’s so upset?” Lance nods, his face grim.

“There’s already so much that’s gone wrong today,” he tells Keith, his voice just as soft and low, “half the flowers for the reception wilted, a couple of her guests didn’t tell her they’re vegan, and now this.”

Lance sighs heavily, placing the beads on the table, and Keith inspects the garter. The beads had given the lace its color, and without them, Veronica would be left with just a plain white wedding garter. Lance pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously on the verge of irritated panic.

“I’m her ‘Man of Honor,’” he whispers to Keith, “which means _I’m_ the one who has to fix this. _Me_. Not anyone else. So how the fuck am I supposed to get her a blue wedding garter 40 minutes before she’s supposed to walk down the aisle?”

Keith wants to make a smart remark that it’s actually _42_ minutes before the start of the ceremony, but at that moment, Anita and Lucinda come into the room, Anita’s bright grin fading when she sees the scene before her. “ _Dios mio,_ Veronica! _Qué ha pasado? Deja de llorar y te arruinarás el lápiz labial!_ ” She rushes to check on the bride, fussing at Veronica’s smeared mascara, and Lucinda joins Keith and Lance, her expression almost curious.

“Cheap wedding garter?” She deduces immediately, and Lance nods. Her eyes flit between the garter and the beads on the table, and she crosses her arms, indignant. “Have you tried gluing them back on?” Lance huffs impatiently, gesturing to the beads with wild hands. Since Keith senses him too agitated to speak, Keith speaks for him. “I don’t think we wanna risk losing some beads on the runway, don’t you? Could result in a slip-and-fall type situation.”

Even he understands the glare Lucinda throws his way – him trying to make the mood lighter _does not work,_ he should know this - and Keith holds his hands in surrender, conceding. “I’m just saying. Look, maybe there’s something else we can use. She just needs a something blue, right? It doesn’t have to be visible? Maybe Shiro has an extra blue pocket square or one of their guests have—“

Keith cuts himself off as he stuffs his hand in his pocket, his fingers brushing the crumpled bag. Lance stares at him expectantly, blue eyes wide with confusion. “Have something she can use?” He presses, but Keith holds up a finger and Lance curses lowly in Spanish as Lucinda rolls her eyes.

Could it be? Keith hadn’t had time to extract _just_ the baseball card – Miguel had wrapped around his leg again and Mateo had been yanking on his hair - so he had taken the whole thing with him, and he’s just now realizing…

He pulls the paper bag out of his pocket, ignoring Lance exclamation of exasperation and Lucinda’s stony stare, and reaches in. The tie is somehow the same blue shade as the beads on the table, and as Keith takes it out for display, Lance’s eyes widen. His mouth clamps shut mid-sentence.

“That’s…” he stammers, and shuts up abruptly. Keith meets his stare for the briefest of seconds, understanding that Lance’s reaction is not just mere _shock_. Keith turns to Lucinda, offering the tie as if it were a sacrifice. “Would this work?”

Lucinda stares at him, hard. As always, Keith can’t even begin to deduce what she’s thinking about. After a moment, she glances at the clock and gives a heaving sigh.

“Alright,” she says, her voice the softest Keith has ever heard it, “give it to me. I’ll sew it into a temporary garter.”

Keith hands her the tie, checking the time himself, and without thinking, he asks, “will you be able to do it in time?”

Lucinda’s stare is cold, and for the briefest of moments, her fingers tighten around the garter, annoyed. But a sort of understanding must’ve passed between them, and to Keith’s infinite surprise, Lucinda gives him the smallest of smiles.

“Do you know what I do for a profession, Keith?” She asks, slightly smug, and without waiting for him to answer, she says, “I’m the best damn seamstress in Little Havana.”

* * *

“Keith! Wait up!”

Keith stops in his tracks, already halfway down the hall. He turns just as Lance skids to a stop, hair wild and eyes wide. He almost looks on the verge of tears.

“What do you want, Lance?” Keith doesn’t mean to sound so _tired_ , but Lance pulls back almost immediately. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, his face turning red, and Keith has to repress his urge to kiss him.

“I-I, uh,” Lance looks down, obviously supremely embarrassed, and Keith is about to tell him to snap out of it when he says, “that was _my_ tie. The one I left at your apartment? From… the Star Seeker’s gala.”

It’s not really a question, but Keith nods all the same.

Lance takes a deep breath, his eyes never straying from Keith’s. “Okay. Okay, I was gonna wait until a little later but I don’t think I can anymore.” Carefully, he takes a step closer, until Keith can count the freckles on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Lance says, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have left like I did, and I should’ve made more of an effort to keep you in my life.

I know things have been rough between us. I know you’re probably still hurt over things I’ve said and done, and I’m not excusing that. To be honest, I am too. But I want to make it up to you. I understand if you’re averse to that; if after this wedding, you want nothing to do with me, I’ll understand.” He takes another hesitant step closer, and Keith can see his own reflection in Lance’s eyes.

“But if you’re willing to give me a second chance,” Lance looks down, taking his hands, “I want to prove it to you.”

Keith swallows, struggling to wrap his head around what Lance is saying. “Prove what?” He asks blankly. Lance blinks at him, curious. Longing. The look he gives Keith is neither impatient or ill-natured. In fact, it seems as if Lance is… _hopeful._

“That I’m in love with you, Keith. I always have been, and I always will be.”

* * *

“Do you, Takashi Shirogane, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Keith can’t see Shiro’s face, but he can _hear_ his smile as he says, “I do.” Keith’s gaze flits to the glowing bride, her makeup immaculate, her dress catching all the light. Veronica’s eyes are shining as the priest asks, “And do you, Veronica Marie Espinosa, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The entire room seems to sniffle when Veronica says, “I do.”

The priest smiles, his face understanding and kind. Keith sees Anita and Veronica’s best friend - a woman named Aileen - standing behind her in matching pink dresses, tears of happiness dripping down their faces.

And beside them: Lance. Standing in his own pink suit, his hair cleaned up neat, his hands clasped in front of him. Though he isn’t smiling, his face betrays pride and happiness for his sister, and Keith’s heart swells.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The priest is still talking as Shiro pulls Veronica in for a kiss, and the room – already overflowing with heart – explodes in a shower of confetti.

* * *

“Hey,” Shiro says, gently nudging Keith’s elbow as he collapses beside him. Shiro’s navy tie has been carelessly unknotted, and it hangs across his collar, the first two buttons popped open.

Keith nods at him, smiling, and together they look onto the “dance floor,” which is basically a bunch of old tiles Pidge had fashioned together on the lawn.

Luis had surprised Veronica with a father-daughter dance, playing “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls - which Veronica had supposedly been obsessed with when she was younger - and having Marco step onto the floor. Veronica had burst into tears. The two of them are there now, executing moves that would make even the most recent Dance Dance Revolution champion proud.

“How’re you feeling?” Keith asks, and Shiro beams, ruffling his hair. “I’m married now, so I don’t feel half bad.” Shiro’s wedding ring, a simple band of silver, glints at him in the setting sun.

They watch as the dance ends with a flourish, as Marco lifts Veronica off her feet and spins her around, as Veronica laughs and laughs and laughs. Keith spots Lance at one of the nearby tables, his smile reserved, his hands clasped with Rosita’s, whose eyes are shining with tears.

“I have something for you,” Keith tells Shiro, and without looking at him, Keith pulls out the paper bag from his pocket. Shiro doesn’t say anything as Keith rummages, but as soon as he sees the baseball card, he exclaims in delighted surprise.

“Vicente Padilla! Is this from when we snuck in?” Keith nods, handing Shiro the card. Shiro turns it over, shaking his head.

“Y’know Keith,” he starts, and Keith groans, sensing where this is growing, “I could give you a whole lecture about how I asked you to come down here to learn the importance of family and all—“

“—Please don’t.”

“ _But_ I’m not. I’m just gonna say,” Shiro throws his arm around Keith, his smile soft. “I hope you had a decent time here. And I’m glad you decided to come. And, I’m really, _really_ glad you’re my brother.”

Keith feels his eyes welling, and he looks away hastily before Shiro can clock him on it. Instead, he’s content to watch the reception, Shiro’s arm draped over his shoulders.

After a while, Shiro asks, “So. You flying out tomorrow?” And Keith is about to reply when the music shifts to a soft, pop ballad, and his gaze lands on Lance.

Wonderful, beautiful Lance. Who is stargazer by heart, a dedicated family-man, and his nieces’ and nephews’ favorite uncle. Who had been broken in his childhood, in his marriage, in his fatherhood. Who was once _Keith’s Lance_ , and now is just _Lance_ , but it doesn’t matter. Not to Keith, not anymore.

Keith _is_ Lance’s. Always has been, always will be.

“Uh, maybe,” he replies, and he glances at Shiro, his smile bashful. “There’s something I have to do first.”

Shiro’s look of surprise can’t be masked as Keith stands, downing the rest of his champagne with a large swallow. Then, Keith walks over to Lance’s table. He passes by the rest of the family – he passes Veronica, who places a hand on his shoulder before going to sit with her husband.

He passes by Marco, holding a tired Stella in his arms, and Lucinda, who is burping Joey. To Keith’s surprise, Luci give him a tight, curt nod before turning her attention to her daughters. Keith passes by Luis and Rae, who are arguing over which song to play next, and Isabelle, who is entertaining Mateo and Miguel with a deck of cards. He passes by Pidge and Matt, who are teaching Slav new tricks, and Hunk and Shay, who are dancing gently on the dance floor, and Anita, holding a sleeping Randy in her arms.

And finally, Keith arrives at the table. Rosita, dressed in pretty lilac, smiles at him, understanding; Lance stares up at him, confused and in awe all the same. They don’t have to say anything, and Keith wouldn’t have had anything to say anyway.

Instead he holds out his hand, asking for a dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :''')


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and his family go "star-casing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading :')
> 
> every story needs a happily ever after, right? here's this one's

[Such a Heavenly View](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zp7NtW_hKJI)

_(August, 3 Years Later)_

_“He’s got my nose!”_ Shiro points out, zooming the Skype camera closer to his newborn son’s face.

Keith laughs as the baby squirms, obviously displeased with his father’s coddling, and in the background, Keith can hear Veronica chiding Shiro in Spanish, her voice laced with amusement.

Keith shrugs, chopping the last of the marshmallows and layering them out on the skillet. “Well, with a handsome face like that? What’d you name him, then?”

“It better have come from the list I sent over,” Lance grumbles, setting three mugs on the counter, “otherwise I rescind my application to be his godfather.”

 _“I think you’ll quite like it, Lance,”_ Veronica chirps, and Shiro turns his phone toward her, folding their clothes. She frowns momentarily at having the camera pointed at her, but smiles when she sees her brother, staring expectantly.

_“We named him Alexander Joseph, or ‘Alex’ for short.”_

Lance doesn’t say anything as he mulls it over, and Keith grins, kissing him lightly on the shoulder. “Well, Veronica,” he says placing the skillet in the oven, “I think that’s a _perfect_ name.”

 _“Right? I’m glad I thought of it!”_ Shiro quips, and Veronica throws a sock at him. Laughing, he looks at Lance, an eyebrow raised. _“Well? Does it reach your standards, Mr. Godfather?”_

Lance shrugs, the glint in his grin betraying his true feelings on the matter. “Alexander Joseph Shirogane. I think it’ll do.”

Shiro laughs again before he and Veronica say their goodbyes, and they end the call. Lance sighs happily, pouring milk in each of the mugs. “Marco’s not gonna like that name, I can tell you that,” he says, and Keith shrugs.

“Eh, he’ll live. Oh, speaking of which, ma told me their house just finished reservations. They’ll be moving back in at the end of the week.” Lance rolls his eyes in relief, stirring.

“Fucking finally. Now we can _actually_ stay at Ma’s next month instead of suffocating under the weight of… people.”

“I thought you love people?” Keith jokes, eyebrow raised, and Lance scowls, adding honey to each of the mugs. “Look, _people_ are great. I love people, yes, you’re right. I even love my brother, and ol’ Lucinda, and all their spawn. What I don’t love is my brother and his wife getting involved in our business and telling me how to teach and raise _our_ kid, when theirs are crazier than circus animals sometimes.”

“Cousin Joey is crazy?”

Both Keith and Lance whirl, facing their four-year-old daughter as she stares expectantly at them, having come from seemingly nowhere, a thick blanket overwhelming her arms.

“No,” Keith assures her hastily at the same time Lance says, “I said _sometimes_ ,” and Sasha beams at them, satisfied with their answer, and bounces on the balls of her feet, her socks undeniably mismatched.

“Oh. Can we go star-casing now?” She asks, her light lisp making Keith smile, and Lance places all three mugs on a tray before shooing her to the door with his foot. “Alright, alright,” he mutters as he crosses out the back door. “Let Daddy carry the blanket though. Leave it on the table. And it’s ‘stargazing,’ _mi amor._ Not ‘star-casing.’”

Lance sticks his head back through the gap in the door, blinking at Keith. “You coming?”

Keith indicates to the oven, checking to see the remaining minute before their desert is fully baked. “I’ll be right out,” he assures Lance, and Lance nods, giving him a devilishly charming wink before disappearing into the night.

Keith sighs contently, pocketing his phone. He folds up the bag of remaining marshmallows (not much, but Sasha will _not_ be happy with him if he throws it away,) and places it in the fridge.

Before he can walk away, though, the fridge display catches his eye, and he allows himself a moment to reminisce.

Countless photographs of him and Lance - with various members of their _very_ large family - throughout the years cover the surface. There’s them when Lance finally got to publish his dissertation on Dreamer, them when Hunk and Shay finally got married, them when Stella graduated middle school at the top of her class – and a year early.

There’s a picture of them with Luis and Anita’s first child together, a baby girl named Penelope; a picture of them with Rosita on her 60th birthday; a picture of them with Pidge and Hunk when they finally opened their own storefront: Voltron Photography and Lights (Keith has no idea where Hunk came up with the name, but he thinks it suits them, somehow.)

There’s a picture of them when they first adopted Sasha, some two years ago or so, clinging desperately to Keith as he holds her in his arms. There was terror in her eyes, palpable, wide.

 _Now_ , Keith thinks proudly, of her mismatched socks and her fascination with the beyond, _she’s absolutely fearless._

Keith touches the three photographs commemorated at the top of the fridge surface, just as the oven beeps at him. He turns away, the images imprinted permanently into his memory.

The picture of Krolia, of course, stands as a staple. It’s a little wrinkled, but still glowing. Next to it is a picture of Nyma and Kiara – the only photograph Lance had of them. Nyma was smiling, elated despite the circumstances, and baby Kiara’s face had the traces of amusement only babies make after their picture is taken.

And right below those two: a photo-booth strip of Lance, Keith, and Sasha. Each frame grows sillier and sillier until the last, where all three of them are smiling, grinning broadly at the camera, each of their eyes glinting with the future yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you guys who first saw this fic when i started it TWO YEARS ago and just now read the ending, i hope you're satisfied.
> 
> seriously though, thank you so much. i appreciate every single one of you guys who took the time to read this. it was my first experience writing a multi-chapter fic, so i was SUPER nervous about it and it took me a couple of tries to really get the hang of writing in Keith's perspective. but i am so proud of how it turned out and to date, this is the best fanfic ive ever written.
> 
> but i digress, thank you guys again so much. if yall are interested in seeing more, check out my socials! they're all linked in my profile
> 
> until next time ;)  
> quintheowl


	10. Dialogue Translations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes all the Spanish-to-English translations of the dialogue throughout the work. Please note that I took these translations from Microsoft Translator, so they may not be accurate. If there are any mistakes, please do correct me. Thank you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics are Spanish, underlined is English

**Chapter One: Don't Want to Sit All In My Sadness**

Keith's first meeting with Isabelle:

Shiro says, _Hola abuela -_ hello, grandmother and _este es mi hermano_ \- this is my brother.

A slightly delusional Isabelle speaks to her late husband, Sebastian, and says, _creo que el es el unico -_ I think he is the one

Shiro then asks, _que estas hablando con? -_ who are you speaking to?

And Isabelle says, _no importa eso, muchacho. entrar en! estoy seguro de que Rosita se muere por conocrete -_ it matters not, my boy. go on in! i'm sure Rosita has been dying to meet you

And before Keith can go inside, she says to her non-physical husband yet again, _tal vez Alejandro puede ser feliz por fin -_ perhaps our Alejandro can find his happiness at last

Keith's first meeting with Veronica's family:

Luis says to Miguel, who is still attached to Keith's leg, _dejalo ir, mijo_ \- let go, child

Rosita remarks after seeing Keith for the first time, _dios mio, muchacho -_ my God, child

* * *

**Chapter Two: I Should Put My Heart Out**

small translations. when Keith and Rosita talk heavily about Josef and Lance:

Rosita, freshly embarrassed, says, _mis disculpas, nino_ \- my apologies, my boy

then she guides Keith to help her put away the laundry, and says, _vamos_ \- let's go

* * *

**Chapter Three: We Do This Every Time**

the first terrifying scene:

Isabelle is wailing. first, she says, _viene, nino! Estara aqui! -_ he's coming, boy! he will be here! and follows it with _lo hemos empujado lejos! Todo lo que quiere es nuestro amor! -_ we've pushed him away when all he wanted was our love!

Luis bursts outside and says, _que le pasa a la abuela? -_ what's happening to grandmother?

Isabelle seems out of it when she says, _mi hijo lo hizo mal_ \- my son did him wrong

during the EPIC fight scene:

Rae calls Lucinda a self-preserving _puta_ \- slut or whore

during dinner:

Isabelle approaches Pidge and says _ha pasado tanto tiempo desde que te hemos visto, jovencita -_ it's been so long since we've seen you, young lady and _me encanta el corte de pelo!_ \- i love your new haircut!

after finding out that Luis and Rae are ditching dinner halfway through, a surprised Rosita says, _a donde vas?_ \- where are you going?

* * *

**Chapter Four: Leave This Blue Neighborhood**

Keith and Lance catch up in the kitchen:

Lance sees Randy at the foot of the steps and says, _buen dios, mijo_ \- good God, child

at the Halloween party:

Lucinda tells Keith about a strange Espinosa ritual called _chug de cerveza -_ chug the beer

* * *

**Chapter Five: If You Have Nightmares, We'll Dance On the Bed**

while Isabelle talks to Keith:

Isabelle says, _buenos dias =_ good morning

during brunch:

Rosita steps in when everyone makes fun of Keith's mullet, and says, _dejar de burlarse de_ Keith = stop making fun of Keith

then later, Isabelle speaks up and says, _dejalo en paz =_ leave him alone and just when Keith thinks he's in the clear, she says, _él está loco porque sabe que no se ve bien en un vestido_ = he is mad because he knows he does not look good in a dress

* * *

**Chapter Seven: We Can Just Dance to This**

while Keith and Rosita have a heart-to-heart:

Rosita calls Randy and Stella _pollitos_ = little chickens (term of endearment for children)

while in the bridal suite:

an overwhelmed Veronica says, Anita _me matará por arruinar su maquillaje_ = Anita will kill me for ruining her makeup

then when Anita sees her, a panicked Anita says, _Dios mio,_ Veronica! _Qué ha pasado? Deja de llorar y te arruinarás el lápiz labial!_ = my God, Veronica! what happened? stop crying, you'll ruin your lipstick!


End file.
